Lisa Grunwald Quotes

• “The language of sex seemed to echo with Shop: as a Playboy, apparently, you got hammered or plastered, then you nailed or screwed or drilled a woman who was built, or had a rack.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “But 'contentment'. Is that happiness? Or is that only resignation wearing a funny hat?”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “There is a strong connection between our ability to use our hands in useful work, and our ability to find happiness in daily life... daily repetitive tasks (are) the compulsive calmness that infuses our pedestrian chores with poetry. - Annie Modessitt”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Clearly I have a talent now: I can trace every single thing back to a certain, scared place in the map of my heart.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “RICHARD FEYNMAN LETTER TO ARLINE FEYNMAN, 1946 Richard Feynman (1918–1988) shared the 1965 Nobel Prize in Physics for his work on quantum electrodynamics. Unrivaled in his generation for his brilliance and innovation, he was also known for being witty, warm, and unconventional. Those last three qualities were particularly evident in this letter, which he wrote to his wife Arline nearly two years after her death from tuberculosis. Feynman and Arline had been high school sweethearts and married in their twenties. Feynman’s second marriage, in 1952, ended in divorce two years later. His third marriage, in 1960, lasted until his death. D’Arline, I adore you, sweetheart. I know how much you like to hear that—but I don’t only write it because you like it—I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you. It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you—almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; & I thought there was no sense to writing. But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you. I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead—but I still want to comfort and take care of you—and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you—I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that together. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together—or learn Chinese—or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now. No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures. When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to & thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true—you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else—but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive. I know you will assure me that I am foolish & that you want me to have full happiness & don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girl friend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I—I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls & very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone—but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real. My darling wife, I do adore you. I love my wife. My wife is dead. Rich. P.S. Please excuse my not mailing this—but I don’t know your new address.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Even in their brief time together, Nora had come to understand the difference between infatuation and love. Infatuation was weather. Love was climate.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “she’d been forbidden to play the national anthem again. It was clear to the stationmaster that Americans were unable to hear it without stopping traffic on the Main Concourse to sing along,”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Michael stands at the dresser, putting his comb into his back right pocket, his wallet into his back left pocket, his keys into his front right pocket. A place for everything , and everything in its proper place. Except, perhaps, his wife.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “I slide down between the sheets beside him, like a secret letter slipped into the safety of an envelope. And dream of ancient places, where everyone is young.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “I hope we're not intruding,' she croons, sweetly. "Well, I say, "I was trying to get a little work done." I give T.J. a fuck-you-I-don't-look-weird-get-the-hell-out-of-here-look, but apparently only I know what the look is meant to convey.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Look," I say at last. 'You know me. You know my life. I always thought-or hoped-"
  "You thought what?"
  "I just want to be happy," I finally say.
  She stares at me hard.
  "You have been," she says.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “You're into happiness?" the technician says, her eyes never leaving the computer screen.
  "I'm writing a book about it," I say.
  "About happiness?" she says.
  "Yes," I say.
  " Didn't the Dali Lama already write that book?”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Infatuation was weather - love was climate.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “OLD JOKE Sadie and Moishe go to see a lawyer. “What can I do for you, folks?” Moishe: “We want a divorce.” “Well, this is very odd. I mean, um, how old are you folks?” “I’m ninety-three,” Moishe says. “Wife’s ninety-one. We’ve been married sixty-seven years.” “And you mean to tell me, after sixty-seven years of marriage, at your ages, you want a divorce?? Why now??” “We wanted to wait ’til the kids were dead.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “You want a story? Go buy yourself a magazine.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “sculpted and refined by hours upon hours of exercise, walking stairs that lead nowhere, riding bikes that go nowhere, rowing phantom rowboats, wearing immovable cross-country skis.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “is envy just the illusion that the problem of happiness can be solved?”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Time heals all wounds, I’m sure it’s true, but not until after the wounds have been felt.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “And is there a difference, I wonder, watching the ease with which T.J. settles back into her reading, between the happiness of being happy and the happiness of being happy because you think someone might be less happy than you?”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Maybe, I think, happiness is simply order.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Henry-despite his youth, his inexperience, and above all his profound gratitude for having just lost his virginity-made a mental note that this girl Lila was something of an idiot.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “bearing a bouquet of cleaning supplies and a bucket as a vase.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “The large yellow rectangle shrinks until, like a tiny knot on a long thread, it is woven into the city’s fabric.”

  Lisa Grunwald

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• “Happiness,” I say, “is a cigarette and a desk to smoke it at.” He grins and offers the pack to me, but I shake my head. “Keep talking,” he says. “Some people think there’s a gene for it,” I say. “A happiness set point. Like in weight. Some people think it’s friendship. Aristotle thought it was virtue. No one has a different definition of anger, or sadness, or envy. But happiness is—it’s—a shimmer. It’s a note. Trying to describe it is like trying to describe music. Or color. Or taste. It’s reaching your toes down and finding the cool part of the sheets. It’s hearing the song you were trying to remember. It’s fresh cheesecake and a cup of coffee. Breast-feeding. Victory. Hope. It’s knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do. Love. Being loved. Falling in love. Making things. Feeling safe. Knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do—”

  Lisa Grunwald

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