Author: Tara Westover
Our lives were a cycle, circles of perpetual change that, when complete, meant nothing had changed at all. I believed my family was a part of this immortal pattern, that we were, in some sense, eternal. But eternity belonged only to the mountain.
The choices people make, together and on their own, that combine to produce any single event. Grains of sand, incalculable, pressing into sediment, then rock.
I’ve always supposed it was the music in his head, some hopeful tune rhe rest of us couldn’t hear, the same secret melody he’d been humming when he bought that trigonometry book, or saved all those pencil shavings.
Home had changed the moment I’d taken shawn to that hospital instead of to mother. I had rejected some part of it, now it was rejecting me.
When I’d seen those courses in the catalog, and read their titles aloud, I had felt something infinite, and I wanted a taste of that infinity.
Negative liberty and positive liberty
Although I had renounced my father’s world, I had neber quite found the courage to live in this one.
It is a subject on which nothing final can be known." The subject Mill had in mind was the nature of women. Mill claimed that have gone through a series of feminine contortions for so many centuries, that it is now quite impossible to define their natural abilities or aspirations. Never had I found such comfort in a void, in the black absence of knowledge. It seemed to say: whatever you are, you are a woman.