Suminski Family Funeral Home Quotes & Sayings

Give me the Love that leads the way The Faith that nothing can dismay The Hope no disappointments tire The Passion that'll burn like fire Let me not sink to be a clod Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God — Amy Carmichael

So many people mean nothing to us, we pass one another by without acknowledgement, without comprehending the gifts many have to offer, if only we slowed down and realised we're not all so different. My front door isn't open to everyone, but I can tell a good one when I see them just like I know trouble when it's staring me in the face. — Tami Egonu

The truth is I've been doing Kickstarter before there was Kickstarter; there was no Internet. Social Media was writing letters, making phone calls, beating the bushes. — Spike Lee

For women live much more in the past ... they attach themselves to places; — Virginia Woolf

A tranquil mind gives life to the flesh,
but passion makes the bones rot. — Michael D. Coogan

A woman knows by intuition, or instinct, what is best for herself. — Marilyn Monroe

What I'm advocating is an intellectual revolution - it's a different mindset concerning the ethical benchmarks by which we live. — Tariq Ramadan

Between the Mile

I have always counted the miles.
Sometimes they came quick,
Other times slow.
The distance between things,
The way I could know.
Close could feel far,
And far could feel near.
The miles that passed too quickly,
The ones I ran out of fear.
They weren't all the same,
So I had been told,
The unmarked trails,
And the days I was bold.

Some miles went down,
Spiraling so low,
When I was afraid to look forward,
There was nowhere to go.
The sunset came fast,
And the day turned to night,
But the trails could be endless,
If I looked at them right.

Everything I knew,
All I was told,
The conversations left behind,
The people who grew old.

When the miles stretched out before me,
I wanted to sew them at the seam,
Looking forward and then back,
Holding everything in between. — Jacqueline Simon Gunn

My youngest brother killed a lynx yesterday," Rose said.
"Apparently it came into his territory and left some spray marks. He skinned it, smeared himself in its blood, and put its pelt on his shoulders like a cape. And that's how he came dressed for breakfast."
Cerise drank some beer. "My sister kills small animals and hangs their
corpses on a tree, because she thinks she is a monster and she's convinced
we'll eventually banish her from the house. They're her rations. Just in case."
Rose blinked. "I see. I think we're going to get along just fine, don't you?"
"I think so, yes. — Ilona Andrews

Terms swarm up to tempt me in the course of this description: Greek Orthodox, Romanesque, flying buttress, etc. These guessing words I find junked in my brain in deranged juxtaposition, like files randomly stuffed into cabinets by a dispirited secretary with no notion of what, if anything, might ever be usefully retrieved. Often all language seems this way: a monstrous compendium of embedded histories I'm helpless to understand. I employ it the way a dog drives a car, without grasping how the car came to exist or what makes a combustion engine possible. That is, of course, if dogs drove cars. They don't. Yet I go around forming sentences. — Jonathan Lethem