Maira Kalman Quotes

There is no reason to save tickets and stubs. They are tiny and inconsequential. But I do save them and remember that number twenty-three was from the coat check at the restaurant where I ate the lemon tart. The number is so elegant and honest. And the lemon tart was so good.

Some people, surely, die on the way to something.

Then we call them the late so-and-so.

The ability to take a walk from one point to the next point, that is half the battle won.

All terrific but the people. THE PEOPLE. Everyone looks so exalted, or so wretched, or so spiffy, so funny, so splendid. If you are ever bored or blue, stand on the street corner for half an hour.

Flowers lead to books, which lead to thinking and not thinking and then more flowers and music, music. Then many more flowers and many more books.

Washing dishes is the anecdote to confusion. I know that for a fact.

And it is very true that the most tender, complicated, most generous part of our being blossoms without any effort, when it comes to the love of a dog.

Jump right in, or wade in slowly.
Advantage to one, it's over quickly.
Advantage to the other, it isn't.

I want to say
that wonderful ideas
can come from anywhere.
Sometimes you make a mistake,
or break something, or lose a hat, and the next
thing you know, you get a great idea.

Sometimes, when I am feeling
particularly happy or content,
I think I can provide sustenance
for legions of human beings.
I can hold the entire world in my arms.

Other times, I can barely cross the
room. And I drop my arms. Frozen.

I tell you these stories because these things happen to everyone. It's not about being starched or polished or cute or polite. It's about having ears that stick out, about breaking yet another glass. It's about seeing something for the first time and making a million mistakes and not ever getting completely discouraged.

Soon enough it will be me struggling (valiantly?) to walk - lugging my stuff around. How are we all so brave as to take step after step? Day after day? How are we so optimistic, so careful not to trip and yet do trip, and then get up and say O.K. Why do I feel so sorry for everyone and so proud?

I read obituaries first thing in the morning. With a cup of coffee. This is NOT MORBID. Just epic. Maybe it's a way of trying to figure out, before the day begins, what is important. And I am curious about all the little things that make up life. Little?

I tell you these stories because these things happen to everyone. It’s not about being starched or polished or cute or polite. It’s about having ears that stick out, about breaking yet another glass. It’s about seeing something for the first time and making a million mistakes and not ever getting completely discouraged.

Isn't that the only way to curate a life? To live among things that make you gasp with delight?