Haniyeh > Recent Status Updates

I’ve had a splendid time and I feel that ut marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home.

It was an elegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn’t what I used to think it was. That’s the worst of growing up, and I’m beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don’t seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.

It’s always wrong to do anything you can’t tell the minister’s wife. It’s so good as an extra conscience to have a minister’s wife for your friend.

Do you know I don’t believe I feel very comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in this room and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That is one consolation when you are poor—there are so many more things you can imagine about.

It’s sometimes so hard to believe a thing even when you know it.

I thought nothing could be as bad as red hair. But now I know it’s ten times worse to have green hair.

I’d have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it.

It was splendid, to think I had touched somebody’s heart.

It isn’t very pleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, Marilla. You find out how many friends do you have.

هیچ عشقی با سکوت زنده نمی‌ماند.

تصور دو موجودی که تنها و دور از دیگران، یکدیگر را دوست دارند بسیار زیباست. اما آنها خلوت خویش را چه چیزی پر می‌کنند؟ جهان هر اندازه هم که حقیر باشد، آنها برای سخن گفتن با یکدیگر به آن نیاز دارند.

با مرگت مرا از سعادت با تو بودن محروم کرده‌ای، اما در عین حال مرا آزاد ساخته‌ای. آزاد در رویارویی‌ام با جهانی که دوستش ندارم.

به خاطر فرزند است که ما به جهان وابسته ایم، به آینده ی آن می‌اندیشیم، به سهولت در قیل و قالش، در جنب و جوشهایش مشارکت می‌کنیم، و بلاهت درمان ناپذیرش را جدی میگیریم.

این ناممکن است که فرزندی داشته باشیم و جهان را، آنگونه که هست، حقیر شماریم، زیرا به این جهان است که او را فرستاده ایم.

Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

It’s harder to hate up close.

The easiest way to disregard a woman’s voice is to package her as a scold.

It’s remarkable how a stereotype functions as an actual trap. How many “angry black women” have been caught in the circular logic of that phrase? When you aren’t being listened to, why wouldn’t you get louder? If you’re written off as angry or emotional, doesn’t that just cause more of the same?

I was female, black, and strong, which to certain people, maintaining a certain mind-set, translated only to “angry”.

There’s such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I’m such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much mote comfortable, but them it wouldn’t be half so interesting.

I’m so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no Mayflowers. ... Diana says if they don’t know what there are like they don’t miss them. But I think that is the saddest thing of all. I think it would be tragic, Marilla, not to know what Mayflowers are like and not to miss them.

Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.

She amuses me, and at my time of life an amusing person is a rarity.

I dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong as mine. It all depends on the way we look at it.

Do I really look the same as usual? I feel so different that it seems to me it must show in my looks.

Matthew understands me, and it’s so nice to be understood, Marilla.

It’s so hard to get up again, although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction you have when you do get up.

The world looks like something God had just imagined for his own pleasure, doesn’t it?

One can’t stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?