Best 444 quotes in «autism quotes» category

I also have a list of favorite noises. It has one item on it: Kit's laugh.

I am fine as an autistic person, value me as i am. Don't look at me as a broken neurotypical.

I am kissing David Drucker. I am kissing David Drucker. I am kissing David Drucker. I Was wrong. I had assumed this would be his first kiss, that it would be fumbling and a bit messy but still fun. No way. Can’t be. This guy knows exactly what he’s doing. How to cradle the back of my head with his hands. How to move in soft and slow, and then pick up the pace, and then slow down again. How to brush my cheeks with even smaller kisses, how to work his way down my jaw, and to soften the worry spot in the center of my brow. How to pause and look into my eyes, really look, so tenderly I feel it all the way down in my stomach. He even traces the small zigzag scar on my eyebrow with his fingertips, like it’s something beautiful. I could kiss him forever. I’m going to kiss him forever.

I am no longer 'trying to dig up evidence to prove' vaccines cause autism. There is already abundant evidence. This debate is not scientific but is political

I am so alone, all the time, even when I'm surrounded by people. Sometimes I get really tired of the walls, and I wish I had the strength to just go at them with a sledgehammer.

I believe that disclosure represents a particular kind of inventional site within autism land. Because autism, in the cultural imagination, is an ambiguous and often mystery-laden construct, any disclosure around autism invokes questions, invokes guesswork, incites demands for particularity. One cannot claim autism without being pressed for more -- more information, more cross-examination, more refutation, more response, more words flowing from more mouths. But there is likewise a problem of ethos (or kakoethos, to quote Jenell Johnson) inherent in these disclosures, wherein autistic people are figured as lacking authority to speak on or from within autism. Autistic academic Dinah Murray laments these figurations of autism and ethos, noting, "Disclosure of an autism spectrum diagnosis means disclosure of the fundamentally flawed personhood implied by [autism's] diagnostic criteria. It is likely to precipitate a negative judgment of capacity involving permanent loss of credibility." In disclosing autism, we are both too autistic and not autistic enough...

I attended a symposium, an event named after a fifth century (B.C.) Athenian drinking party in which nonnerds talked about love; alas, there was no drinking, and mercifully, nobody talked about love.

I calculate the breadth of Steven's shoulders, now wider than mine; watch him tear open the Blokus game he likes to play with me after school; count the hours between now and Dad coming home to take over and I am only a little afraid of the night.

I do not subscribe to functioning labels because functioning labels are inaccurate and dehumanizing, because functioning labels fail to capture the breadth and complexity and highly contextual interrelations of one's neurology and environment, both of which are plastic and malleable and dynamic. Functioning is the corporeal gone capitalistic -- it is an assumption that one's body and being can be quantitatively measured, that one's bodily outputs and bodily actions are neither outputs nor actions unless commodifiable.

I don't want to answer so I wait. Because sometimes if you don't answer then someone will answer for you or someone will say something else to help you know what to say.

I can pass for normal most of the time, but I understand perfectly why some of my autistic patients scream and flap their arms -- it's to frighten off extroverts.

If coloured lenses can potentially stop the world seeming fragmented and put an end to nightmare distortions, then the learner with autism who shows signs of visual stress deserves to be screened.

I don't like crowds of people in general. When they're all talking at the same time, and making noise. Crowds are the worst ... All the lights and the shouting and the people. It's like broken glass in my head.

I fall for centuries of life. First sunlight touches this hillside; and buried inside the earth, a seed stirs, turning slowly in the deep soil like a tadpole turning itself in a dank pool.

If I tried to describe what it’s like to be nonverbal in the World of the Verbal in a single word, I’d choose this one: agony. And yet, this is also true: if we know there is even a single person who understands what it’s like for us, that’s solace enough to give us hope.

If [Patricia Highsmith] saw an acquaintance walking down the sidewalk she would deliberately cross over so as to avoid them. When she came in contact with people, she realised she split herself into many different, false, identities, but, because she loathed lying and deceit, she chose to absent herself completely rather than go through such a charade. Highsmith interpreted this characteristic as an example of 'the eternal hypocrisy in me', rather her mental shape-shifting had its source in her quite extraordinary ability to empathise. Her imaginative capacity to subsume her own identity, while taking on the qualities of those around her - her negative capability, if you like - was so powerful that she said she often felt like her inner visions were far more real than the outside world. She aligned herself with the mad and the miserable, 'the insane man who feels himself one with all mankind, all life, because in losing his mind, he has lost his ego, his self-ness', yet realised that such a state inspired her fiction. Her ambition, she said, was to write about the underlying sickness of this 'daedal planet' and capture the essence of the human condition: eternal disappointment.

If the thought of losing someone doesn't scare the shit out of you, then it's not love

If we can't start by seeing an autistic child as inherently capable, interesting, and valuable, no amount of education or therapy we layer on top is going to matter.

I felt the bark of the trees on either side of me as I walked. It was very soothing. Here in the LBA Woods, the trees grew very close together and when I did not walk on the path, I would reach out with my fingertips and touch their bark as I passed. The skin of the trees was warm in the sunlight, and rough, and I imagined that each tree contained a soul. Like an Ent. I knew this idea was not a true thing, but still I felt good that the trees were here.

If you can still wipe your own backside then life's not that bad!

I guard my existence, sheltered by distance. Hidden and masked I parade, everyone oblivious to the grand charade.

I had observed that neurotypicals criticised autistic people for lacking empathy… but seldom made any effort to improve their own empathy towards autistic people. Pg 318

I hate the rules of language; I love the orders of numbers.

I Have a Dream... someday my son, Zyon and ALL individuals with disabilities will be seen as HUMAN beings. I Have a Dream... someday the human & civil rights of individuals with disabilities are honored and they are treated as equals. I Have a Dream... someday ALL parents who have children with disabilities see their child as a blessing and not a burden. I Have a Dream... someday there will be more jobs and opportunities for individuals with disabilities. I Have a Dream... someday there will be UNITY "within" the disabled community. I HAVE A DREAM!!!

I have a definite psychosis in being with people. I cannot bear it very long.

I have always had the same hopes and dreams as others. It just may not have been obvious.

I have every expectation that if switched mode power supplies, radioactive household smoke detectors, radio frequency (RF) transmitters and satellites were banned, Autism would recede into a very rare disease.

I hesitate in everything, often without knowing why. How often I've sought – as my own version of the straight line, seeing it in my mind as the ideal straight line – the longest distance between two points. I've never had a knack for the active life. I've always taken wrong steps that no one else takes; I've always had to make an effort to do what comes naturally to other people. I've always wanted to achieve what others have achieved almost without wanting it. Between me and life there were always sheets of frosted glass that I couldn't tell were there by sight or by touch; I didn't live that life or that dimension. I was the daydream of what I wanted to be, and my dreaming began in my will: my goals were always the first fiction of what I never was.

I hope that this book will be my way of helping to clear the fog of mystery surrounding autism. And in passing on my personal story I hope to include with it the best and most valuable of what I have learned along the way both as a mother and in my two decades working as a paediatrician. I also hope it will encourage healthcare professionals to be advocates for families who patiently and willingly endure battles every day for the sake of their children. My book describes a wide range of resources and therapies that can help families of children with special needs and autism

I felt the bark of the trees on either side of me as I walked. I could reach out with my fingertips and touch their bark as I passed. The skin of the trees was warm in the sunlight, and rough, and I imagined that each tree contained a soul.

If you are sincerely looking for God, you are sure to find him because he will never abandon anyone who wants a relationship with him. In fact, your difficulties can help you look more intently for God so that you can see him- right by your side.

I'll never get to hear her say, 'I love you, Mommy,' like other parents take for granted.

I loosen my grip and take a tasteless bite. I don’t like bananas much—they’re so mealy—but they’re a safe fruit to eat, always cleanly wrapped in their own packages. As I chew, I crane my neck to check out the people around us.

I love introverts. They don't waste words. Excessive extroverts can be very wasteful. I don't trust them in any kind of intricate or delicate matter.

Imagine that your child is born with wings.

I'm always going to have struggles, but with hard work, determination, and the support of others (as well as faith), instead of having a life I have no control over, I can have the life I've always dreamed of!" -David Petrovic

I mean: if you’re going outside to look for your sister, I get it.” Max goes silent. Maybe Mirjam’s death is hitting him now, maybe his voice will choke—but he goes on. “But if you’re going outside to help your mother . . .” He gestures helplessly at my injured arm. His fingers stop a centimeter away, hovering in midair. “Don’t risk it. Don’t risk you.” “She’s my mother.” “The captain will never let her on if she doesn’t even try. Not when there are so many people who haven’t had thechance to try. People we can use on the ship. People who have been on that waiting list forever.” There are a dozen things I want to say. But she’s mymother—as though that means as much as people pretend it does. She is trying, just in a different way—as though I’m convincing myself. I wasn’t on that waiting list, either. I might not be someone the ship can use, as much as I’m trying to be.

I look at the sky and the dust that separates us from the stars that will be my home. I breathe in the night air, the rotten night air, and I miss, I miss, I miss.

I liked holding David’s hand, though. That part-the snow dampening my face, letting my tears mix without anyone seeing, his fingers snug in mine-that was nice. His hand was heavier than I would have guessed. More solid. Like he could keep me from flying away.

I more the "Autism World" gets imploded with politics the less voices will be heard.

I never allowed my Autism/Asperger's to have the prerogative to neither tear nor slow me down. I earned a degree in chemistry, juggle for elementary schools, play piano for seniors on Sunday mornings, and been mentoring children/teens from K-12 at Royal Rangers almost every week for six years and counting.

Information can only be acquired in two ways: by choice or by chance.

I myself am opaque, for some reason. Their eyes cannot see me. Yes, that's it: The world is autistic with respect to me.

I reached down to feel the soil, and I touched the outreaching roots of the trees that bore horizontally and vertically hundreds of feet through the forest. I stroked the earth with my palm, and I could almost feel that invisible network of capillary roots that sucks moisture and nutrients out of every inch of the soil I was standing on. I breathed in and out. I was part of the forest. I was alive.

I rolled up my sleeve. Penned on my arm in my own writing: If I prove I’m not selfish, Daniel will love me.

In a world now so obsessed with speed, we teachers must step back and learn to wait.

In real life I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere and I’m too nervous to talk to people. On the internet I feel like I fit in, I have found others like me.

In reference to Einstein's definition of insanity... No Mr. Einstein, that is not insanity, that is autism.

In the context of the autism world (and my outlook in general) this is were I stand equality is for everyone, everybody in the world - I look at both sides of the the coin and take into account peoples realities (that makes me neutral/moderate/in the middle). That means that you look in a more three dimensional perspective of peoples diverse realities you cannot speak for all but one can learn from EACH OTHER through listening and experiencing. I also try my best to live with the good cards I was given not over-investing in my autism being the defining factor of my being (but having a healthy acknowledgement of it) that it's there but also thinking about other qualities I have such as being a writer, poet and artist. I do have disability, I do have autism and I have a "mild" learning disability that is true but I a human being first and foremost. And for someone to be seen as person equal to everyone else is a basic human right.

I saw the Eagle Tree for the first time on the third Monday of the month of March, which I guess could be considered auspicious if I believed in magic or superstition or religion...