Gerald Green Quotes

I've had, you know, my leg chopped off.

So I all knew was you lost your limbs and you died from it. I was scared silly.

Not a day goes by when I don't wish I had both legs.

Let me alone: I have yet my legs and one arm. Tell the surgeon to make haste and his instruments. I know I must lose my right arm, so the sooner it's off the better.

When my young men began the killing, my heart was hurt.

I've had a bad time, which we won't dwell on. We were married and we worked together for 52 years, and suddenly with her gone I was a quadriplegic. Slowly I'm crawling back.

I think whenever you lose somebody close to you, there's always a part of you that wishes you could have done something differently.

The last thing I ever thought would ever happen to me was losing my legs.

Losing my father at a tender age was extremely important in being able to accept what happened to me later when I became a quadriplegic.

All I have I would have given gladly not to be standing here today.

I was paralyzed from the chest down when I was 19, so I kind of put my head together about dying, and I think I've come to terms with it.

I died on that mountain, too. I left a part of myself up there.

They always say, 'Time heals.' But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before.

I can't really say I miss my toes.

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.

But when you kill someone you love, the hard part is never over. It just gets easier to distract yourself from what you've done.

There's periods now in our New York residence when I hear the door opening, especially the first couple of years... Anytime I hear that door opening I still think I'm gonna hear her.

Remembering is only a new form of suffering.

At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

I wanted to forget the past, but it refused to forget me; it waited for sleep, then cornered me.

I have a beautiful address book a friend gave me in 1966. I literally cannot open it again. Ever. It sits on the shelf with over a hundred names crossed out. What is there to say? There are no words. I'll never understand why it happened to us.

I try not to remember the life that I didn’t want to lose but lost and have to remember

I needed, I decided, to really know her, because I needed more to remember. Before I could begin the shameful process of forgetting the how and the why of her living and dying, I needed to learn it: How. Why. When. Where. What.

I just didn't want to admit that he was dead.

When things happen to you in the worst way, you live with it, you go over it, you think, 'What else could I have done?'