Textbook Amy Krouse Rosenthal Quotes

Just look at us, all of us, quietly doing our thing and trying to matter. The earnestness is inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time.

It takes a snowflake two hours to fall from cloud to earth. Can’t you just see its slow, peaceful decent?

Every day is the prime of your life.

Nothing > Love.

I just learned the German word fernweh, sort of a cousin to wanderlust; it means “far-sickness, an ache for distance.” Penny

For some reason, it takes my brain a moment to process…the open-close symbols on elevators, which is which.

10. About these coincidences, the data and mathematicians are clear: Such things happen all the time. Then again, Einstein (pretty good at math) was also quite clear when he concluded, There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. 11. I’m going with B, everything.

Death demands its own designated punctuation mark. Maybe: ______ died/ It is a dividing line / everything on this side is different.

He said it was a quintessential Pal moment—being out and about in the universe, and then unexpectedly crossing paths with someone from home base.

When you woke up, for a moment you thought you were the moon.

Then again, Einstein (pretty good at math) was also quite clear when he concluded, There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

The same five letters can be rearranged to express my daily sense of—and relationship to—time. First from the viewpoint of childhood, then young adulthood, and now, the present. ACRES of it..CARES about it. RACES against it.

IT IS one thing to accumulate woes bit by bit over the course of a lifetime. quite another to enter this world with impossible burdens, by no doing of your own, and find yourself unequipped to handle them and/or find that, despite every conceivable effort, they are mercilessly unshakable.

+ turn page upside down =

It can neither be concealed nor overstated: These types of things genuinely interest and delight me. One small wordplay discovery—say, figuring out that an anagram for maker is me, AKR—will make my whole day.

Apparently the rules are that a sentence can’t come right out and tell its writer what it is or wants to be, so the sentence gives the writer little clues, charade-style. The writer just keeps churning/blurting things out, groping at the answer, trying out every possible assemblage. It’s a sentence about a man! It’s a sentence about a woman! About a house? It’s a long sentence. It’s a short sentence? It’s a sentence connected to another sentence by an ellipsis! Three syllables, first syllable starts with L. Um . . . luminous! Oh, second syllable starts with an L. Alacrity? The sentence is elegant and light! The sentence has something to do with a pear? Forget it, I have no idea. Start over.

If one is generously contracted 80 years, that amounts to 29,220 days on Earth. Playing that out, how many more times then, really, do I get to look at a tree? 12,395? There has to be an exact number. Let’s just say it is 12,395. Absolutely, that is a lot, but it is not infinite, and anything less than infinite seems too measly a number and is not satisfactory. Also, I would like to stare at my kids a few million more times. I could stare at them a few million more times easy.

III. I am looking at that photo of the three of us. a. Just a few hours after delivery i. we are so ruddy-skinned ii. right out of the gate iii. blank slates b. Jason is holding the baby c. Our expressions seem to say i. Here he is! ii. Our first baby! iii. The world’s first baby! iv. All the other babies who exist are rumors, vague versions of a baby! v. Ours is the only real baby! d. This photo was taken two decades ago i. This was when I still had to look up the pediatrician’s phone number ii. This was when, filling out forms, I’d catch myself writing Ann, my own mom’s name, in the space for mother. IV. I’d like to be deliberate about what you might associate me with. a. Some already associate me with a yellow umbrella i. That’s fine by me ii. I like that b. I’m going to toss out another everyday item that also feels good: a doorknob c. Doorknob = i. small ii. give me your hand iii. come on in.

The word literature enters the room with its nose in the air. But get it in a corner, ask the right questions, and it will reluctantly fess up to its humble origins. It hails from the Latin litterae, you whisper in your date’s ear. It puts on a big act, but it literally just means “things made of letters.

I HAVE BEEN WAITING for you at the northeast corner, by the Starbucks, as we agreed. for you to notice that I do not care. for someone like you.

I like the cursor blinking, the coffee drinking, the sitting thinking.

I think it is a strength, feeling tenderly about the nuts and bolts and tools of one’s trade. But maybe it’s not so much a strength, more like an indicator—strength implies that I had some role in it, and I don’t believe I did; I was simply born with a fondness for letters and language, and was predisposed to enjoy playing around with them and it. There is this anecdote from Annie Dillard: A painter was asked why he became a painter. He replied, Because I love the smell of paint.

A painter was asked why he became a painter. He replied, Because I love the smell of paint.

People often share anecdotes with me. I know you will appreciate this, they say. Indeed, I can be counted on to validate the remarkableness of their tales, bringing my hands to my cheeks and exclaiming in all the right places.