Elisabeth Tova Bailey Quotes

It seemed far more reasonable to belong to a species that had evolved natural tooth replacement than to belong to one that had developed the dental profession.

I find that nothing is quite as I remember; in my absence, the world has changed.

We all have some genes that for unknown reasons are in the "off" mode; perhaps scientists will someday figure out how to flip these switches, and we'll each be able to choose other interesting animal traits: a tail, striped fur, wings, or even gastropod tentacles.

Illness isolates; the isolated become invisible; the invisible become forgotten. But the snail ... the snail kept my spirit from evaporating.

Those of us with illnesses are the holders of the silent fears of those with good health.

I liked the sound of the word 'snail' every time I said it; the word was as small and simple as the creature itself.

In terms of size, mammals are an anomaly, as the vast majority of the world's existing species are snail-sized or smaller. It's almost as if, regardless of your kingdom, the smaller your size & the earlier your place on the tree of life, the more critical is your niche on Earth: snails & worms create soil, & blue-green algae create oxygen; mammals seem comparatively dispensable, the result of the random path of evolution over a luxurious amount of time.

There is a certain depth of illness that is piercing in it's isolation: the only rule of existence is uncertainty, and the only movement is the passage of time. One cannot bear to live through another loss of function, and sometimes friends and family cannot bear to watch. An unspoken, unbridgeable divide may widen. Even if you are still who you were, you cannot actually fully be who you are.

The crucial first step to survival in all organisms is habitat selection. If you get to the right place, everything else is likely to be easier.

The life of a snail is as full of tasty food, comfortable beds of sorts, and a mix of pleasant and not-so-pleasant adventures as that of anyone I know

The snail had been a true mentor; its tiny existence had sustained me. Late one winter night I wrote in my journal:
A last look at the stars and then to sleep. Lots to do at whatever pace I can go. I must remember the snail. Always remember the snail.

We are all hostages of time. We each have the same number of minutes and hours to live within a day, yet to me it didn't feel equally doled out. My illness brought me such an abundance of time that time was nearly all I had. My friends had so little time that I often wished I could give them what time I could not use. It was perplexing how in losing health I had gained something so coveted but to so little purpose.

Survival often depends on a specific focus: A relationship, a belief, or a hope balanced on the edge of possibility. Or something more ephemeral: the way the sun passes through the hard seemingly impenetrable glass of a window and warms the blanket, or how the wind, invisible but for its wake, is so loud one can hear it through the insulated walls of a house.