There is, so I believe, in the essence of everything, something that we cannot call learning. There is, my friend, only a knowledge — that is everywhere.
There is no human being from whom we cannot learn something if we are interested enough to dig deep.
Then you must teach my daughter this same lesson. How to lose your innocence but not your hope. How to laugh forever.
The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.
The mere habit of learning to love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing.
The difficulty is to teach the multitude that something can be both true and untrue at the same time.
Tell me, what use is prayer, contemplation, or learning? Does prayer grow rye? Does contemplation fill a fishing net? Does learning build a house or plow a field?
Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but — I hope — into a better shape.
Secretly, I still get proud of the ways Rosie and I loved each other. We had no one else to learn from—none of our parents were shining examples of relationship success—so we learned this from each other: when someone you love needs you to, you can get a hold of your five-alarm temper, get a hold of the shapeless things that scare you senseless, act like an adult instead of the Cro-Magnon teenager you are, you can do a million things you never saw coming.