Home > Author > Nancy Sprowell Geise
1 " I go there sometimes in my mind, to that cemetery in Radom, to pretend they're all laid to rest there, to tell them I have not forgotten them, to tell them that despite the death that separates us and the events that tore us apart, we have triumphed. We have triumphed because the love we shared, the light of their lives, survives- it survives in me and the love I have for Irene- it survives in our son and his wife Julie- and it survives in our three grandchildren. The love of our family will survive for generations. "
― Nancy Sprowell Geise , Auschwitz #34207: The Joe Rubinstein Story
2 " It’s hard to fathom that something as tangible as shoes could survive when the precious lives they held did not. "
3 " Grandfather was right, wasn’t he? Because God loves us, he allowed even bad to happen, for without freedom, there is no life. Didn’t I learn that in the camps? "
4 " I don't want to live forever. But as long as I'm alive, I'm going to love life, love my family, and love God. That's the way I am. "
5 " within each of us are two opposing inclinations, one toward good and one toward evil, and that God bestowed on us one of the greatest gifts we could ever know—the freedom to choose. "
6 " The boy has never returned to Poland. I never had a desire; there was nothing to go home to. My family was my home, and they were all gone. "
7 " What really is life? It's family. That's all you have left. Today you're here; tomorrow you never know. You have to remember what life is...it is in you...you have nothing else. You have pictures in your mind. You have to remember the good things. What else do you have? You have to memorize the good life you had. You have to make a good life. "
― Nancy Sprowell Geise , The Eighth Sea
8 " I tell them, the family whose faces I have not seen in decades, but they already know. Long ago they were pulled into the same gentle arms of the One who stayed with me while I was in the pit of death, weeping with me, healing me; the same arms that heard the prayers of a broken boy crying out for the dead he pushed in his cart; the same arms that were there, carrying each of them home. Our unfathomable grief is His, too. "
