Kris Radish Quotes

Sisters-the ones we share last names with and the ones we choose-are the lining of every woman's soul.

The world is full of promise and places and people and experiences that are dying to be explored.

Think of all the fabulous things that have happened in the world because someone has just done it-you know, just jumped off the cliff and worried about the dangers when it's all over.

She knows she will remember these last moments with her Mother every single day for the rest of her own life.

Family does not mean people with the same last name or the same DNA. It means people who care about you, who you trust, who you care about
people you can count on.

It's so odd, isn't it? That know we are all going to die, & that we have these difficult passages to go through with our parents & friends, & other people we love & care about who are also going to die, & yet it's almost as if we are never really ready.

Once," Balinda begins softly, "when I was in the emergency room with my mother they brought in a murderer who had been shot and was dying, right there in front of us. I watched as the nurse touched his face and reassured him and I could not believe they were being so nice to him."
"What happened?" Jill asked.
"My mother rose up, took my arm, gripped it as if she was a weight lifter and said, 'he was a beautiful baby once and his mother loved him'.

Worry can bring you down to nothing and make you doubt everything you know about yourself.

There has to be a moment when you choose happiness, when you stand up, raise your face towards the sun, and just grab joy and put it in a place where no one can ever take it away from you.

Whatever any of them thinks about who she was, or what happened, or why people do what they do, is just absolutely fine & dandy, as long as they have a good time, do it with a kind heart, & pay homage in a respectful way to the Goddesses that have gone before them.

The grieving, she knows, never ends, and all that remains is the miracle of love. And she holds onto that miracle as if to save her life.

Put your hand on your heart to keep it from flying off to the lovely magical literary island Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows have created in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. This novel is a delightful mix of fine writing, powerful emotions, glorious settings and amazing characters who deal with life in a way that will have readers falling in love on every single page.

I have tried very hard over the years to let you know how much I love you, & how I have treasured your place in my life. I choose no formal service because I know that death does not erase my memory in your life, & I suspect that you will not be gone from my lingering spirit either. ... Celebrate! I say! Life, death, living and this process of dying that parallels our lives every single moment.

No matter how together we are, no matter how many friends or kids or partners or dogs or goats we have, there are always moments where we not only feel alone, but lonely.

Not only are there many ways to grieve, but showing sorrow, reaching out, being honest about your loss is as important as anything ... Go kiss someone, go swim naked, go quit the job you hate, go celebrate your own life before it's over. Go. Do something with gusto & gratitude & with a laugh at the back of your throat, a laugh that never ends.

There are so many things to grieve ... All the dogs & cats & birds & snakes we have loved & lost, & old lovers, but what else? ... it took me forever to see that one of them was my own daughter, my baby, a young woman I thought of only as a girl, a child, & there she was, suddenly a woman, & I felt this ache gnaw at me as if I hadn't eaten in a year ... I stood there watching my daughter gesture & move & laugh with the grace of a grown-up, & I just started crying like a baby. It wasn't unlike the same type of sorrow we all feel when we realize something we once had that was very precious is not longer there. That it is forever lost, changed, deceased. Like a baby, gone, except in your memory ... My own daughter is now a woman. I get it. Another passage, another form of loss, another reason to grieve, another part of this life process.