Watershed Moment Quotes

Every life has a watershed moment, an instant when you realize you're about to make a choice that will define everything else you ever do, and that if you choose wrong, there may not be that many things left to choose. Sometimes the wrong choice is the only one that lets you face the end with dignity, grace, and the awareness that you're doing the right thing. I'm not sure we can recognize those moments until they've passed us.

The moment we realize that we don’t grasp what we know can be a watershed in our lives. The day we start to accept what we already know may perhaps be very bewildering, at first, but anyway, utmost eye-opening. The knowledge that has been barricaded behind ramparts of fear and distrust in our minds can suddenly burst loose. Through this deliverance, we become eventually aware of what we have always known but never dared to recognize. At that instant, the undercover challenge between “knowing and not knowing” can finally be settled. “To know, or not to know, that is the question!” (“"Wrong time. Wrong place"”)

When your mother doesn't want to have the sex talk with you any more but instead wants to talk about the possibility that you might have sex on her soft furnishings, it's a watershed moment in any girl's life. I know I'll remember it fondly for many years to come.

Lincoln didn’t just end slavery. King didn’t just dream segregation away. Parks didn’t just get tired one day. It is often the unrecognized actions of previous generations that push a society to eventually embrace mantras such as hope, equality, change, and other ideals, which transform the political landscape. Chisholm's actions remind us that there are hundreds of forgotten foot soldiers in history that helped to bring these watershed moments to fruition. For

At watershed moments of upheaval and transformation, we anticipate with terror the absence of the familiar parts of life and of ourselves that are being washed away by the current of change. But we fail to envision the unfamiliar gladness and gratifications the new tide would bring, the unfathomed presences, for our imaginations are bounded by our experience. The unknown awakens in us a reptilian dread that plays out with the same ferocity on scales personal, societal, and civilizational, whether triggered by a new life-chapter or a new political regime or a new world order.

A watershed moment exists in every man's life...sometimes it's profound, sometimes it's barely a blip. But every man has the moment when he stops being his mother's son and becomes another woman's man. When he goes from protected to protector.

We lack - we need - a term for those places where one experiences a 'transition' from a known landscape... into 'another world': somewhere we feel and think significantly differently. They exist even in familiar landscapes: there when you cross a certain watershed, recline or snowline, or enter rain, storm or mist. Such moments are rites of passage that reconfigure local geographics, leaving known places outlandish or quickened, revealing continents within counties.

This was how things worked. Period. Short of death (immediate family only), dismemberment (your own), or nuclear war (only if confirmed by the U.S. government to be directly affecting Manhattan), one was to be present. This would be a watershed moment in the Priestly regime.

Ransom was by now thoroughly frightened—not with the prosaic fright that a man suffers in a war, but with a heady, bounding kind of fear that was hardly distinguishable from his general excitement: he was poised on a sort of emotional watershed from which, he felt, he might at any moment pass either into delirious terror or into an ecstasy of joy.

Is that a good definition of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize - quite rationally, quite unemotionally - that the world in the not-so-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

Do you know the phrase watershed moment, buddy?” I nodded. You didn’t have to be an English teacher to know that one; you didn’t even have to be literate. It was one of those annoying linguistic shortcuts that show up on cable TV news shows, day in and day out. Others include connect the dots and at this point in time.

Every life has a watershed moment, an instant when you realize you’re about to make a choice that will define everything else you ever do, and that if you choose wrong, there may not be that many things left to choose. Sometimes the wrong choice is the only one that lets you face the end with dignity, grace, and the awareness that you’re doing the right thing.

The bottom line is, time is a powerful force. It transforms our preferences. It reshapes our values. It alters our personalities. We seem to appreciate this fact, but only in retrospect. Only when we look backwards do we realize how much change happens in a decade. It's as if, for most of us, the present is a magic time. It's a watershed on the timeline. It's the moment at which we finally become ourselves. Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they're finished. The person you are right now is as transient, as fleeting and as temporary as all the people you've ever been. The one constant in our life is change.

no longer regarded myself as a simple general,’ Napoleon later said of his victory, ‘but as a man called upon to decide the fate of peoples. It came to me then that I really could become a decisive actor on our national stage. At that point was born the first spark of high ambition.’51 He repeated this to so many different people on so many different occasions throughout his life that Lodi really can be taken as a watershed moment in his career. Vaunting ambition can be a terrible thing, but if allied to great ability – a protean energy, grand purpose, the gift of oratory, near-perfect recall, superb timing, inspiring leadership – it can bring about extraordinary outcomes.

I walked out this evening to the bottom of the garden and smoked a cigarette. Last week I planted an acer in the furthest bed from the house, in honour of our new baby. The sapling is as tall as me and, by all accounts, it can grow forty feet tall. So, in thirty year's time, if we're still here I can come back and see this tree in its maturity. But the thought depresses me: in thirty years' time I'll be in my mid-sixties and I realize that these forward projections that you make, so unreflectingly, in your life are beginning to run out. Suppose I'd said in forty years' time? That would be pushing it, Fifty? I'll probably be gone by then. Sixty? Dead and buried, for sure. Thank Christ I didn't plant an oak. Is that a good definition of of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize-quite rationally, quite unemotionally-that the world in the not-so-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

2006 interview by Jim Gray, Amazon CTO Werner Vogels recalled another watershed moment: We went through a period of serious introspection and concluded that a service-oriented architecture would give us the level of isolation that would allow us to build many software components rapidly and independently. By the way, this was way before service-oriented was a buzzword. For us service orientation means encapsulating the data with the business logic that operates on the data, with the only access through a published service interface. No direct database access is allowed from outside the service, and there’s no data sharing among the services.3 That’s a lot to unpack for non–software engineers, but the basic idea is this: If multiple teams have direct access to a shared block of software code or some part of a database, they slow each other down. Whether they’re allowed to change the way the code works, change how the data are organized, or merely build something that uses the shared code or data, everybody is at risk if anybody makes a change. Managing that risk requires a lot of time spent in coordination. The solution is to encapsulate, that is, assign ownership of a given block of code or part of a database to one team. Anyone else who wants something from that walled-off area must make a well-documented service request via an API.

That story, of course, isn’t unique to California, or to beavers. Europeans began despoiling North American ecosystems the moment they set boots on the stony shore of the New World. You’re probably familiar with most of the colonists’ original environmental sins: They wielded an ax against every tree, lowered a net to catch every fish, turned livestock onto every pasture, churned the prairie to dust. In California’s Sierra Nevada, nineteenth-century gold miners displaced so much sediment that the sludge could have filled the Panama Canal eight times.14 We are not accustomed to discussing the fur trade in the same breath as those earth-changing industries, but perhaps we should. The disappearance of beavers dried up wetlands and meadows, hastened erosion, altered the course of countless streams, and imperiled water-loving fish, fowl, and amphibians—an aquatic Dust Bowl. Centuries before the Glen Canyon Dam plugged up the Colorado and the Cuyahoga burst into flame, fur trappers were razing stream ecosystems. “[Beavers’] systematic and widespread removal,” wrote Sharon Brown and Suzanne Fouty in 2011, “represents the first large-scale Euro-American alteration of watersheds.

A watershed in the century is the moment when the first recognizably genuine pictorial documents were produced. No one knows what Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) really looked like, but we do know how Frédéric Chopin (1810–49) appeared. Only paintings of Franz Schubert exist, but Gioachino Rossini, five years his elder, lived long enough to be photographed in the studio of the great portraitist, Félix Nadar. A few other heroes from the age of Romanticism and Idealism lived to see the age of photography, which dawned in 1838–39 with the invention of the daguerreotype, followed by the opening of the first studios two years later.

United Airlines 173 was a traumatic incident, but it was also a great leap forward,” the aviation safety expert Shawn Pruchnicki says. “It is still regarded as a watershed, the moment when we grasped the fact that ‘human errors’ often emerge from poorly designed systems. It changed the way the industry thinks.” Ten people died on United Airlines 173, but the learning opportunity saved many thousands more.

That’s when I began dividing my work day into three sections: the Finder, the Keeper, and the Doer. This was a watershed moment for me as a businessperson. Was this what Thomas Edison felt like when he finally got his fucking lightbulb to work? Probably.

In a 2006 interview by Jim Gray, Amazon CTO Werner Vogels recalled another watershed moment: We went through a period of serious introspection and concluded that a service-oriented architecture would give us the level of isolation that would allow us to build many software components rapidly and independently. By the way, this was way before service-oriented was a buzzword. For us service orientation means encapsulating the data with the business logic that operates on the data, with the only access through a published service interface. No direct database access is allowed from outside the service, and there’s no data sharing among the services.3 That’s a lot to unpack for non–software engineers, but the basic idea is this: If multiple teams have direct access to a shared block of software code or some part of a database, they slow each other down. Whether they’re allowed to change the way the code works, change how the data are organized, or merely build something that uses the shared code or data, everybody is at risk if anybody makes a change. Managing that risk requires a lot of time spent in coordination. The solution is to encapsulate, that is, assign ownership of a given block of code or part of a database to one team. Anyone else who wants something from that walled-off area must make a well-documented service request via an API.

But anyone raised by a grandparent knows of that watershed moment, when you become old enough to realize that the shrunken skin and eggshell hair on the person you love is an indicator that they are old, and old people tend to die. You start counting down the days, and everything in life aches with the loss that is to come. My grandmother never intended to abandon me, but when the day came, she had no choice.

The Vietnam War was pivotal to the formation of an emerging evangelical identity. For many Americans who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, Vietnam demolished myths of American greatness and goodness. American power came to be viewed with suspicion, if not revulsion, and a pervasive antimilitarism took hold. Evangelicals, however, drew the opposite lesson: it was the absence of American power that led to catastrophe. Evangelical support for the war seemed to grow in direct relation to escalating doubts among the rest of the public. After the Tet Offensive in the summer of 1968, a poll revealed support for continued bombing and an increase in US military intervention “among 97 percent of Southern Baptists, 91 percent of independent fundamentalists, and 70 percent of Missouri Synod Lutherans; only 2 percent of Southern Baptists and 3 percent of fundamentalists favored a negotiated withdrawal.” Aware of their outlier status, many evangelicals understood themselves to be a faithful remnant, America’s last great hope. With the fate of the nation hanging in the balance, conservative evangelicals “assumed the role of church militant.”34 The war was a watershed moment for American Christians overall.

No—forgiving doesn’t equate to naive vulnerability. It doesn’t mean you have to invite the person who hurt you back to a place where he could hurt you again. It doesn’t mean you have to keep him in your circle of friends. You can forgive someone and still cut that person out of your life. Just because you forgive the one who hurt you, it doesn’t make that person suddenly safe for you. That realization was a watershed moment for me. It meant I no longer had to sit there

There have been numerous books and scholarly articles written about these watershed moments in US history, but college presidents as a group have not emerged as a focal point. Therefore, it is unsurprising that Edwin D. Harrison is largely unknown despite leading Georgia Tech to become the first Deep South university to desegregate without violence or a court order. He was regularly sought out among southerners for his counsel on how to admit Black students peacefully, but our collective memories have not done the likes of Harrison and other college presidents justice for their roles in shaping how the nation engaged the race question.19

We are now at a watershed moment in human history where philanthropists need not follow the precedents set by those who have come before them but can instead synthesise brand new ways to create positive human impact.

The watershed moment,” said Ann Nocenti, “was when Shooter said every single comic had to have a ‘can’t-must’ moment: I am not a thief . . . I don’t want to steal. But I must steal because my grandmother is starving. Every comic had to have that in the first three pages. Literally, a panel where the superhero had to say, ‘I can’t steal—but I must, for my grandmother.’ Or, ‘I can’t kill Mephisto—but I must, because he has my soul.’ He was sending comics back to the Bullpen to have the ‘can’t-must’ panel squeezed in, in the middle of the page.

It was another watershed event for a woman who had for so long believed herself worthless, with little to offer the world other than her sense of style. Her life in the royal family had been directly responsible for creating this confusion. As her friend James Gilbey says: “When she went to Pakistan last year she was amazed that five million people turned out just to see her. Diana has this extraordinary battle going on in her mind. ‘How can all these people want to see me?’ and then I get home in the evening and lead this mouse-like existence. Nobody says: ‘Well done.’ She has this incredible dichotomy in her mind. She has this adulation out there and this extraordinary vacant life at home. There is nobody and nothing there in the sense that nobody is saying nice things to her--apart of course from the children. She feels she is in an alien world.” Little things mean so much to Diana. She doesn’t seek praise but on public engagements if people thank her for helping, it turns a routine duty into a very special moment. Years ago she never believed the plaudits she received, now she is much more comfortable accepting a kind word and a friendly gesture. If she makes a difference, it makes her day. She has discussed with church leaders, including the Archbishop or Canterbury and several leading bishops, the blossoming of this deep seated need within herself to help those who are sick and dying. “Anywhere I see suffering, that is where I want to be, doing what I can,” she says. Visits to specialist hospitals like Stoke Mandeville or Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children are not a chore but deeply satisfying. As America’s First Lady, Barbara Bush, discovered when she joined the Princess on a visit to an AIDS ward of the Middlesex Hospital in July 1991 there is nothing maudlin about Diana’s attitude towards the sick. When a bed-bound patient burst into tears as the Princess was chatting to him, Diana spontaneously put her arms around him and gave him an enormous hug. It was a touching moment which affected the First Lady and others who were present. While she has since spoken of the need to give AIDS sufferers a cuddle, for Diana this moment was a personal achievement. As she held him to her, she was giving in to her own self rather than conforming to her role as a princess.

I am convinced that the entire Rob Bell controversy has provided a watershed moment and opportunity for the Christian community to give pause and reconsider the impact that C.S. Lewis has had, and continues to have, on the broader realm of Christendom. And even

Barriers remain in place, disabling us, and denying our full participation in the everyday. The current government wallows in an ideology that crushes us with cuts to social care, to services – and to disabled arts organisations. Immediately after Silent Witness, Ellen Clifford, of Disabled People Against Cuts, was on Newsnight, pointing out that “the United Nations made a finding of grave and systemic violations towards disabled people”. Who cares? Who’s listening? Unexpectedly Silent Witness seemed to be this week. And with viewing figures averaging 6 million, let’s hope it marks a watershed moment in our understanding and acceptance of disabled people.

American history is punctuated by watershed moments, fulcrum points that separate one sense of ourselves (as a nation) from another.

He would explain this watershed moment as a pivot from the “Google World View” (“Connect people with the information they need”) to the “Facebook World View” (“Connect people with their friends, and give them the means to communicate and express themselves”). BuzzFeed would rely on Facebook and other social networks over Google and other search engines.

that a good definition of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize – quite rationally, quite unemotionally – that the world in the not-so-far-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

That Buddhism may indeed have arrived at such a watershed is further suggested by a recent book by the Dalai Lama entitled Beyond Religion: Ethics for a Whole World. “What we need today,” he argues, “is an approach to ethics which makes no recourse to religion and can be equally acceptable to those with faith and those without: a secular ethics.” Without for a moment rejecting his own Buddhist faith, he acknowledges how “the reality of the world today is that grounding ethics in religion is no longer adequate. This is why I believe the time has come to find a way of thinking about spirituality and ethics that is beyond religioṇ”2 Without

When rain falls, it starts its inevitable journey to the sea. If this journey is rapid, the rain carries topsoil and pollutants with it to streams and then rivers, which terminate in the earth’s oceans. If rainwater is slowed by vegetation, more of it seeps into the ground rather than rushing into local streams. Such infiltration not only replenishes water tables but also scrubs the water clean of its nitrogen, phosphorus, and heavy metal pollutants. Moreover, slow and steady discharge from water tables into streams and rivers reduces the destructive pulse of stormwater that scours our tributaries of their biota. By virtue of their copious leaf surface area and large root systems, oaks impede rainwater from the moment it condenses out of clouds. Much of the water intercepted by leafy oak canopies (up to 3,000 gallons per tree annually) evaporates before it ever reaches the ground (Cotrone 2014). All this makes oaks one of our very best tools in responsible watershed management.