Nettie Jonson > Nettie's Quotes

“Gardening is easier and quicker when spacings are correct for different plants.”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“Professionalism is doing your best at all times, but being willing to admit your mistakes, for it is by making mistakes that we learn.”
― Mark C. Zauderer, Counsel, the Courtroom Is Open: Lessons from More Than a Half-Century in Law and Life

“The fire on the mountain.” That was Anna. “Alchemy,” she said. “I feel it singing in my bones.”
“Singing?” Mary would never understand Anna. The young woman turned away.
Wiseman’s reply was tinged with respect.
“That great pair of alchemists, Francis Ransome and Roberta Le More, believed the work they did affected the world’s spirit, the anima mundi. The Native Americans they met believed they too could and should interact with the Great Spirit. They lived with reverence for the land and all its peoples, the ancestors, the animals, the rocks, the trees, mountains.” 
Mary’s jaw dropped; Caroline glowed; Anna pretended not to listen. Wiseman nodded, then continued.
“You mean…?” began Mary.
“Yes, it could have been so different, a meeting of like-minded earth-based spiritualities. Just imagine, what could have been?”
― Susan Rowland, The Alchemy Fire Murder

“What broke me was wildness,
and wildness my salvation.”
― Don Hynes, Stranger to the Beautiful: A Journey of Faith, Hope, and Transformation

“Her body faded away so far, she almost lost her connection to it. Utter
blackness enveloped her, shutting off all warmth. All light. All love. All
support. All hope. She was pinned, alone, naked, and freezing before a
beast so terrifying she struggled to avert her gaze but could not.
Horns arose from the top of what had to be a head. Fangs protruded
obscenely from a frowning hole that must have been a mouth.
Unsheathed claws threatened instant evisceration. Horrifying eyes.
Two cesspits of black fury in which red flames churned like burning
blood. They bore down on Helen, intensifying the pressure on her to
the point of agony.
Inside her head a message played over and over. You are helpless.
Helen’s fragmented thoughts spun wildly. What to do? How to stop
this nightmare?
The wretched voice roared again, like nails clashing against slate.
“Give me the stone! Now!”
― Candace L. Talmadge, Stoneslayer: Book One Scandal

“He turned and saw Becky, crying in the doorway of her house. What was he doing here? Turning back he saw flashing blue lights at the end of the road, and realised the ringing in his ears was the sound of approaching sirens.”
― R.D. Ronald, The Zombie Room

“Since I was working on myself, with all my emotional problems and my mental health – I’m actually in a really good place right now.”
― Jamie Kershaw, Hurricane to a Rainbow: Anxiety, PTSD, BPD, Autistic Spectrum, and Schizophrenia

“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”
― Lewis Carroll

“I soon saw, however, that Creed's obsession with death was typical of most of the children. This came out in their play.
"Let's play funeral" was a favorite game at recess. To me, it seemed bizarre and mawkish play. All that saved it was the spontaneous creativity of the children and the fact that, unerringly, they caught the incongruities and absurdities of their elders.
One child would be elected to be "dead" and would lay himself out on the ground, eyes closed, hands dutifully crossed across his chest. Another would be chosen to be the "preacher," all the rest, "mourners." I remember one day when Sam Houston Holcomb was the "corpse" and Creed Allen, always the class clown of the group, was elected "preacher." Creed, already at ten an accomplished mimic, was turning in an outstanding performance. I stood watching, half-hidden in the shado of the doorway.
Creed (bellowing in stentorian tones): "You-all had better stop your meanness and I'll tell you for why. Praise the Lord! If you'uns don't stop being so defend ornery, you ain't never goin' gift to see Brother Holcomb on them streets paved with rubies and such-like, to give him the time of day, 'cause you'uns are goin' to be laid out on the coolin' board and then roasted in hellfire."
The "congregation" shivered with delight, as if they were hearing a deliciously scary ghost story. The corpse opened one eye to see how his mourners were taking this blast; he sighed contentedly at their palpitations; wriggled right leg where a fly was tickling; adjusted grubby hands more comfortably across chest.
Creed then grasped his right ear with his right hand and spat. Only there wasn't enough to make the stream impressive. So preacher paused, working his mouth vigorously, trying to collect more spit. Another pucker and heave. Ah! Better!
Sermon now resumed: "Friends and neighbors, we air lookin' on Brother Holcombe's face for the last time." (Impressive pause.). "Praise the Lord! We ain't never goin' see him again in this life." (Impressive pause.). "Praise the Lord!"
Small preacher was now really getting warmed up. He remembered something he must have heard at the last real funeral. Hearty spit first, more pulling of ear: "You air enjoyin' life now, folks. Me, I used to git pleasured and enjoy life too. But now that I've got religion, I don't enjoy life no more." At this point I retreated behind the door lest I betray my presence by laughing aloud.”
― Catherine Marshall, Christy

“They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas

“Sometimes you got to hurt something to help something. Sometimes you have to plow under one thing in order for something else to grow.”
― Ernest J. Gaines, A Gathering of Old Men

“What? I better ask before y’all have me sleeping in the house with a murderer, waking up dead!”
What in the . . . “You can’t wake up dead,” I say.
“Li’l girl, you know what I mean!” She moves from the doorway. “I’ll be waking up in Jesus’s face, trying to figure out what happened!”
“Like you going to heaven,” Daddy mumbles.”
― Angie Thomas, The Hate U Give

“Do you know what I was smiling at? You wrote down that you were a writer by profession. It sounded to me like the loveliest euphemism I had ever heard. When was writing ever your profession? It's never been anything but your religion.”
― J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction