Top 24 Elisabeth Tova Bailey Quotes of All time - Quotes.Pub

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The snail and I were both living in altered landscapes not of our choosing; I figured we shared a sense of loss and displacement. E.

Still, my friends were golden threads randomly appearing in the monotonous fabric of my days.

My bed was an island within the desolate sea of my room. Yet I knew that there were other people home-bound from illness or injury, scattered here and there throughout rural towns and cities around the world. And as I lay there, I felt a connection to all of them. We, too, were a colony of hermits.

While illness keeps me always aware of my mortality, I realize that what matters most is not that I survive, nor even that my species survives, but that life itself continues to evolve.

We had each journeyed to this office from our own distant planet of illness. Though strangers, we became instant, silent companions. We were here for the same purpose: to describe our alien experience to the doctor in hope of survival advice.

One has to respect the preferences of another creature, no matter its size, and I did so gladly.

What majesty is in a creeping Snail, what reflection, what earnestness, what timidity and yet at the same time what firm confidence!

The life of a snail is as full of tasty food, comfortable beds of sorts, and a mix of pleasant and not-so-pleasant adventures as that of anyone I know.

They would worry about wearing me out, but I could also see that I was a reminder of all they feared: chance, uncertainty, loss and the sharp edge of mortality.

As the snail’s world grew more familiar, my own human world became less so; my species was so large, so rushed, and so confusing.

We all have some genes that for unknown reasons are in the “off” mode; perhaps scientists will someday figure out how to flip these switches, and we’ll each be able to choose other interesting animal traits: a tail, striped fur, wings, or even gastropod tentacles.

Like Sleeping Beauty, a snail may not wake until circumstances are favorable – though, like Rip Van Winkle, it may wake into a changed world.

While illness keeps me always aware of my mortality, I realize that what matters most is not that I survive, nor even that my species survives, but that life itself continues to evolve. As the Holocene mass extinction rushes on, which species will be left? And what new creatures will evolve that we cannot now imagine – for what creature could ever have imagined us?

The slant of sun would slowly steepen towards mid-day, then lengthen as it slowly fell away.

With its mysterious, fluid movement, the snail was the quintessential tai chi master.

Whereas the future had once beckoned with many intriguing paths, now there was just one impossible route. So it was into the past, with its rich sedimentary layers, that my mind would go instead.

Was this truly a door that I would someday open and walk through, as if walking out into the world were an ordinary thing to do?

Survival often depends on a specific focus: A relationship, a belief, or a hope balanced on the edge of possibility. Or something more ephemeral: the way the sun passes through the hard seemingly impenetrable glass of a window and warms the blanket, or how the wind, invisible but for its wake, is so loud one can hear it through the insulated walls of a house.

The right thing to do is to do nothing, the place to do it is in a place of concealment and the time to do it is as often as possible.

Time unused and only endured still vanishes, as if time itself is starving, and each day is swallowed whole, leaving no crumbs, no memory, no trace at all.

Humanity is exalted not because we are so far above other living creatures, but because knowing them well elevates the very concept of life. – EDWARD O. WILSON, Biophilia, 1984.

How wonderful it would be if we humans with illnesses could simply go dormant while the scientific world went about its snail-paced research, and wake only when new, safe medical treatments were available.

Those of us with illnesses are the holders of the silent fears of those with good health.

THERE IS A CERTAIN depth of illness that is piercing in its isolation; the only rule of existence is uncertainty, and the only movement is the passage of time.