I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them…


I am convinced that the world is not a mere bog in which men and woman trample themselves in the mire and die. Something magnificent is taking place here amid the cruelties and tragedies, and the supreme challenge to intelligence is that of making the noblest and best in our curious heritage prevail.


I don't know what it's like for a book writer or a doctor or a teacher as they work to get established in their jobs. But for a singer, you've got to continue to grow or else you're just like last night's cornbread — stale and dry.


I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.


I will grow. I will become something new and grand, but no grander than I now am. Just as the sky will be different in a few hours, its present perfection and completeness is not deficient, so am I presently perfect and not deficient because I will be different tomorrow. I will grow and I am not deficient.


If it's not growing, it's going to die.


If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living.


In the end, it is the person you become, not the things you have achieved, that is the most important.


Love dies only when growth stops.


Nirvana or lasting enlightenment or true spiritual growth can be achieved only through persistent exercise of real love.


Only by contending with challenges that seem to be beyond your strength to handle at the moment you can grow more surely toward the stars.


Progress has not followed a straight ascending line, but a spiral with rhythms of progress and retrogression, of evolution and dissolution.


Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.


Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.


Some people grow under responsibility, others merely swell.


Strength and growth come only through continuous effort and struggle…


The entrepreneurial approach is not a sideline at 3M. It is the heart of our design for growth.


The fatal metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us.


The growth of affluence, the growth of education, has led to a shortage of morons.


The harvest of old age is the recollection and abundance of blessing previously secured.

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