Ori Hofmekler Quotes

“Just as a warrior must anticipate his enemy’s behavior and reactions and understand the dangers, and just as a hunter must know the behavior patterns of animals that he hunts, in order for us to heal, to achieve and maintain a state of mental and physical health,we must be in touch with our body and be aware of the symptoms of illness. Our ability to heal, and the healing process itself, should never be taken for granted. Vanity often keeps us from accepting that we’ll all inevitably face cycles of being weaker and stronger,sicker and healthier.”

“The Warrior's Diet Three Rules of Eating:Rule #1: Always start with subtle-tasting foods and move to the moreaggressive foods.Rule #2: Include as many tastes, textures, colors, and aromas as possible in your main meal.Rule #3: Stop eating when you feel much more thirsty than hungry.”

“As for meat, let me say it upfront:Humans haven’t fully adapted to eating meat.”

“Nonetheless, we experience a sense of freedom when we feel that we have the ability to make choices and satisfy our primal instincts.”

“The Warrior Diet is the only diet today that challenges all common dietary concepts and offers a real alternative—guidelines that are not based on superficial restrictions, but rather on true principles of human nutrition.”

“I believe that nature is wise, and that we all have deep instincts within us that can provide the wisdom to know when to eat, what to eat, and when to stop eating. Everyone has and needs these primal instincts. The Warrior Diet allows you to make changes, to binge on carbohydrates or fatty foods like nuts, and still be fine. Other diets don’t allow this freedom. I believe that feeling free should be a part of your life. By introducing you to the Warrior Diet, I hope to relay how this sense of freedom will enrich your life in many ways.”

“I had a dream of music and art and the big city in which I would get lost, where no one would know me and I wouldn't know anyone, where I would work at some ordinary job, and if one day I got up in the morning and decided I wasn't going to go to work anymore, no one would ask questions.”

“PricklyWhen I'm feelingporcupine-y,I get nasty,I get whiny.Stay away orI might stick you.My sharp words arequills to prick you.”

“Universe, tell me about the time when the world was kind, when words didn't shatter the souland leave people bleeding into the crease of their smile. tell me about the time when people wouldn't hide behind sarcasm or humor to mask themselves from dying slowly on the inside. Universe, tell me the names of all the stars in your sky, because I may have met one the other night.His presence in my thoughts, his touch in my heart and no longer a dream but laying next to me now. There are marks on my body from the energy of our light.He is broken, like me, a fallen star. Yet, aspires to soar and believes he can fly. I too believe in dreams.Universe, do you think you can do somethingabout all the lonely souls? the broken? the fallen stars?There are so many of us.And what about the hurt? the pain? the restlessness?Oris this all part of something bigger, a lesson to be learnt? so we can become a part of you?Universe, it’s me, Please hear my soul speak, my heart beat,I've learnt my lesson.Forgive me.Offer me redemption or bring me back to you.Universe, are you there?”

“AlmondineTo her, the scent and the memory of him were one. Where it lay strongest, the distant past came to her as if that morning: Taking a dead sparrow from her jaws, before she knew to hide such things. Guiding her to the floor, bending her knee until the arthritis made it stick, his palm hotsided on her ribs to measure her breaths and know where the pain began. And to comfort her. That had been the week before he went away.He was gone, she knew this, but something of him clung to the baseboards. At times the floor quivered under his footstep. She stood then and nosed into the kitchen and the bathroom and the bedroom-especially the closet-her intention to press her ruff against his hand, run it along his thigh, feel the heat of his body through the fabric.Places, times, weather-all these drew him up inside her. Rain, especially, falling past the double doors of the kennel, where he’d waited through so many storms, each drop throwing a dozen replicas into the air as it struck the waterlogged earth. And where the rising and falling water met, something like an expectation formed, a place where he might appear and pass in long strides, silent and gestureless. For she was not without her own selfish desires: to hold things motionless, to measure herself against them and find herself present, to know that she was alive precisely because he needn’t acknowledge her in casual passing; that utter constancy might prevail if she attended the world so carefully. And if not constancy, then only those changes she desired, not those that sapped her, undefined her.And so she searched. She’d watched his casket lowered into the ground, a box, man-made, no more like him than the trees that swayed under the winter wind. To assign him an identity outside the world was not in her thinking. The fence line where he walked and the bed where he slept-that was where he lived, and they remembered him.Yet he was gone. She knew it most keenly in the diminishment of her own self. In her life, she’d been nourished and sustained by certain things, him being one of them, Trudy another, and Edgar, the third and most important, but it was really the three of them together, intersecting in her, for each of them powered her heart a different way. Each of them bore different responsibilities to her and with her and required different things from her, and her day was the fulfillment of those responsibilities. She could not imagine that portion of her would never return. With her it was not hope, or wistful thoughts-it was her sense of being alive that thinned by the proportion of her spirit devoted to him."ory of Edgar Sawtelle"As spring came on, his scent about the place began to fade. She stopped looking for him. Whole days she slept beside his chair, as the sunlight drifted from eastern-slant to western-slant, moving only to ease the weight of her bones against the floor.And Trudy and Edgar, encapsulated in mourning, somehow forgot to care for one another, let alone her. Or if they knew, their grief and heartache overwhelmed them. Anyway, there was so little they might have done, save to bring out a shirt of his to lie on, perhaps walk with her along the fence line, where fragments of time had snagged and hung. But if they noticed her grief, they hardly knew to do those things. And she without the language to ask.”