Quotes from “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein

now waiting for Denny to come home—he should be here soon—lying on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own urine.
I’m old. And while I’m very capable of getting older, that’s not the way I want to go out. Shot full of pain medication and steroids to reduce the swelling of my joints. Vision fogged with cataracts. Puffy, plasticky packages of Doggie Depends stocked in the pantry. I’m sure Denny would get me one of those little wagons I’ve seen on the streets, the ones that cradle the hindquarters so a dog can drag his ass behind him when things start to fail. That’s humiliating and degrading. I’m not sure if it’s worse than dressing up a dog for Halloween, but it’s close. He
You know,” he said, “at some point you’re going to realize that being a smart-ass isn’t as much about being smart as it is about being an ass.”
“There is no dishonor in losing the race,” Don said. “There is only dishonor in not racing because you are afraid to lose.”
When you’re stuck in quicksand, the worst thing you can do is struggle.
I couldn’t be a human anymore and feel the pain that humans feel. I had to be an animal again.
Everyone wants me to be the next Lance Armstrong. And if I could just grab it and hold it in front of me, maybe I could be. But I can’t hold it, Enzo. It’s bigger than me. It’s everywhere.
The pharmaceutical companies—those who profit from the misery of others—could have asked for no greater income-generating scenario
The true hero is flawed. The true test of a champion is not whether he can triumph, but whether he can overcome obstacles—preferably of his own making—in order to triumph.
They might have been perfectly pleasant people, in their puffy pants and fleece vests and sweaters that smelled of sweat. I don’t know. But I wondered why they had waited for Eve’s illness to make themselves available for companionship.
The human language, as precise as it is with its thousands of words, can still be so wonderfully vague.
There is no dishonor in losing the race,” Don said. “There is only dishonor in not racing because you are afraid to lose.”
To live every day as if it had been stolen from death, that is how I would like to live.
a good story is all about setting up expectations and delivering on them in an exciting and surprising way.
But my thoughts turned to what he had just taught me. Such a simple concept, yet so true: that which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves.
I knew I was different from other dogs. I had a certain willpower that was strong enough to overcome my more primal instincts.
He fantasized about moving somewhere—to Sonoma or Phoenix or Connecticut or Las Vegas, or even Europe—and catching on with one of the big schools so he could drive more, but Eve said she didn’t think she could ever leave Seattle.
He says racing is doing. It is being a part of a moment and being aware of nothing else but that moment. Reflection must come at a later time.
He’s been going through so much, and he’s finally through it.
thought I was just acting, but I really can’t get up. Shit. Life imitating art.
The human language, as precise as it is with its thousands of words, can still be so wonderfully vague.
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