Pam Munoz Ryan Quotes & Sayings

How many others were walking around and not even knowing that someone far away cared for them? Imagine all that love floating in the air, waiting to land on someone's life! — Pam Munoz Ryan

Esperanza, that you, — Pam Munoz Ryan

I am poor, but I am rich. I have my children, I have a garden with roses, and I have my faith and the memories of those who have gone before me. What more is there? — Pam Munoz Ryan

Mrs. Potter said you were a kind and loving soul, underneath all the rest. I guess that means your heart's so sad that it's hard to get out from under the weight. When I was sad about my mother dying, Granny used to say grief is the heaviest thing to carry alone. So I know all about that -Mike — Pam Munoz Ryan

What grows [from] the dark soil of disappointment? — Pam Munoz Ryan

Does a metamorphosis begin from the outside in? Or from the inside out? — Pam Munoz Ryan

... and her name was Freedom. — Pam Munoz Ryan

My husband meant for us to live here. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Our Land is alive, Esperanza, -Esperanza Rising — Pam Munoz Ryan

A library is a temple unabridged with priceless treasure. Librarians are the majesties who loan the jewels of measure. They welcome to the kingdom the young and old of reapers and reign among the riches as the wondrous fortune keepers. — Pam Munoz Ryan

As their shoulders touched, the riverboat was no longer earthbound. With only the two of them aboard, it lifted into the sky, navigating a sea of white billows. The boy was the figurehead beneath the bowsprit, eyes searching for the way. Neftali was the paddle wheel, moving them forward as one ancient spirit. — Pam Munoz Ryan

The talk began about bank loans and investments. — Pam Munoz Ryan

I don't impose any word count or number-of-hours quota on myself, or have any rules, except one: persistence. Nothing glamorous. No epiphanies. Just revisiting and rewriting. For me, momentum is far more important than inspiration. — Pam Munoz Ryan

We are like the phoenix," said Abuelita. "Rising again, with a new life ahead of us. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Esperanza means hope in Spanish. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Rose is not complete without the thorns. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Although he had changed his name, his history came with him, even to his writing. The rhythm of his rain-soaked childhood became a sequence of words. His memories of the understory of the great forest burst into lyrical phrases, as resinous as the sap of a pinecone, as crisp as the shell of a beetle. Sentences grew long, then pulled up short, taking on the tempo of the waves upon the shore, or swayed gently, like the plaintive song of a lone harmonica. His fury became essays that pointed, stabbed, and burned. His convictions played out with the monotonous determination of a printing press. And his affections became poems, as warm and supple as the wool of a well-loved sheep. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Everybody has a heart. Sometimes you gotta work hard to find it -Mouse — Pam Munoz Ryan

Music does not have a race or a disposition! Every instrument has a voice that contributes. Music is a universal language. A universal religion of sorts. Certainly it's my religion. Music surpasses all distinctions between people -Father — Pam Munoz Ryan

Wait for the fruit to fall into your hand. — Pam Munoz Ryan

The words he had written wiggled off the page and escaped from the drawer. The letters stacked themselves, one on top of the other. Their towers reached higher and higher until they stood majestic and tall, surrounding Neftali in a city of promise. HUMANITY. SOLIDARITY. GENEROSITY. PEACE. JUSTICE. LOVE. Then a tiny, conceited word came along. Like a hungry termite, it began to gnaw on the tall words, chewing at their foundation, gulping their pulp until they swayed, toppled, and collapsed. All that remained was one fat, satisfied syllable. FEAR. — Pam Munoz Ryan

A weight pressed on his heart. How could he want something and fear it so much at the same time? — Pam Munoz Ryan

I am poetry,
surrounding the dreamer,
Ever present,
I capture the spirit,
enslave
the reluctant pen,
and become
the breath
on the writer's only road. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Esperanza! Wake up!" screamed Mama. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Our Land is alive, Esperanza ... This whole valley breathes and lives ... He picked up a handful of earth and studied it. Did you know that when you lie down on the land, you can feel it breathe? That you can feel its heart beating. — Pam Munoz Ryan

You never have to get over it you just have to get on with it. — Pam Munoz Ryan

This is what you learned in college," the narrator tells you early on. "A man desires the satisfaction of his desire; a woman desires the condition of desiring. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Your fate is not yet sealed. Even in the darkest night, a star will shine, a bell will chime, a path will be revealed. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Pablo Neruda's poems tramped through the mud [with the fieldworker] ... knocked at the doors of mansions ... sat at the table of the baker ... The shopkeeper leaned over his counter and read them to his customers and said "Do you know him? He is my brother."
The poems became books that people passed from hand to hand. The books traveled over fences ... and bridges ... and across borders ... soaring from continent to continent ... until he had passed thousands of gifts through a hole in the fence to a multitude of people in every corner of the world. — Pam Munoz Ryan

There is no rose without thorns. — Pam Munoz Ryan

She said people on hard times deserved to have beauty in their lives as much as anyone else, whether or not they could pay their rent or were walking to a breadline. Granny said that just because someone was poor didn't mean they were poor of heart. — Pam Munoz Ryan

The needle rocked awkwardly and at the end of her beginning rows, Isabel held up her work to show Esperanza. "Mine is all crooked!"
Esperanza smiled and reached over and gently pulled the yarn, unraveling the uneven stitches. Then she looked into Isabel's trusting eyes and said, "Do not ever be afraid to start over. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Finally, the lawyer came to settle the estate. Mama, — Pam Munoz Ryan

Which is sharper? The hatchet that cuts down dreams? Or the scythe that clears a path for another? — Pam Munoz Ryan

Hortensia set the tray down and brought a shawl and wrapped it protectively around Mama's shoulders. Esperanza couldn't remember a time when Hortensia had not taken care of them. She was a Zapotec Indian from Oaxaca, with a short, solid figure and blue-black hair in a braid down her back. Esperanza watched the two women look out into the dark and couldn't help but think that Hortensia was almost the opposite of Mama. — Pam Munoz Ryan

There it was again, the good and bad all rolled into a meatball. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Esperanza leaned around the side of the truck. As they rounded a curve, it appeared as if the mountains pulled away from each other, like a curtain opening on stage, revealing the San Joaquin Valley beyond. Flat and spacious, it spread out like a blanket of patchwork fields. Esperanza could see no end to the plots of yellow, brown, and shades of green. The road finally leveled out on the valley floor, and she gazed back at the mountains from where they'd come. They looked like monstrous lions' paws resting at the edge of ridge. — Pam Munoz Ryan

Oh Esperanza!' said Isabel, jumping up and down and clapping.'I think my heart is dancing. — Pam Munoz Ryan