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“To Stanley Ager, the gift of human "service" was no one-way loyalty. He clearly gave his all to the families he served but, though he was almost too polite to state this, his expectation of loyalty in return was implicit.”
Stanley Ager“To Stanley Ager, the gift of human "service" was no one-way loyalty. He clearly gave his all to the families he served but, though he was almost too polite to state this, his expectation of loyalty in return was implicit.”
Stanley Ager, The Butler's Guide to Running the Home and Other Graces“I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights scoured sand. What was ever found but women in skirts folded around the men they loved that Friday? No one found me. And how could that have been, here, whereeven botanical names were recordedand small roads mapped in red?Night, the sky is black paper pecked with pinholes.”
Deborah Ager“For a terrible time of life a teen-ager deceives himself”
he believes he can trick the world. He believes he is invulnerable. An adolescent who is an orphan at this phase is in danger of never growing up.“Besides, unrequited love is one of those things that all teen-agers have to go through, right?”
Wendy Higgins, Sweet Evil“New Agers are terrified of their own mortality, and they want to believe that somehow the soul will survive. Of course it will, but not as they imagine.”
Billy Graham, Billy Graham in Quotes“To all those mothers and fathers who are struggling with teen-agers, I say, just be patient: even though it looks like you can't do anything right for a number of years, parents become popular again when kids reach 20.”
Marian Wright Edelman“My grandmother was a kind of Scarsdale, New York, society woman, best known in her day as the author of the 1959 book 'Growing Your Own Way: An Informal Guide for Teen-Agers' - this despite being a person whose parenting style made Joan Crawford's wire hangers look like pool noodles.”
Sloane Crosley“What a gulf between impression and expression! That’s our ironic fate—to have Shakespearean feelings and (unless by some billion-to-one chance we happen to be Shakespeare) to talk about them like automobile salesmen or teen-agers or college professors. We practice alchemy in reverse—touch gold and it turns into lead; touch the pure lyrics of experience, and they turn into the verbal equivalents of tripe and hogwash.”
Aldous Huxley, The Genius And The Goddess“I think our job as parents is to give our kids roots to grow and wings to fly.Deborah Norville”
Deborah Norville“Then Deborah stood at the wicket gate, the boundary, and there was a woman with outstretched hand, demanding tickets."Pass through," she said when Deborah reached her. "We saw you coming." The wicket gate became a turnstile. Deborah pushed against it and there was no resistance, she was through. "What is it?" she asked. "Am I really here at last? Is this the bottom of the pool?""It could be," smiled the woman. "There are so many ways. You just happened to choose this one."Other people were pressing to come through. They had no faces, they were only shadows. Deborah stood aside to let them by, and in a moment they had gone, all phantoms."Why only now, tonight?" asked Deborah. "Why not in the afternoon, when I came to the pool?""It's a trick," said the woman. "You seize on the moment in time. We were here this afternoon. We're always here. Our life goes on around you, but nobody knows it. The trick's easier by night, that's all.""Am I dreaming, then?" asked Deborah."No," said the woman, "this isn't a dream. And it isn't death, either. It's the secret world."The secret world... It was something Deborah had always known, and now the pattern was complete. The memory of it, and the relief, were so tremendous that something seemed to burst inside her heart."Of course..." she said, "of course..." and everything that had ever been fell into place. There was no disharmony. The joy was indescribable, and the surge of feeling, like wings about her in the air, lifted her away from the turnstile and the woman, and she had all knowledge. That was it - the invasion of knowledge. ("The Pool")”
Daphne du Maurier, Echoes from the Macabre: Selected Stories