"In the laughing times we know that we are lucky, and in the quiet times we know that we are blessed. And we will not be alone"
About this Quote
Dar Williams writes like someone who’s watched happiness come and go in different weather. The line splits life into two registers: the loud, public joy of “laughing times” and the softer, almost private grace of “quiet times.” “Lucky” is the word you use when the universe seems to toss you a break; “blessed” is what you reach for when you’re forced to admit you can’t fully explain why you’ve been held up. That shift is the engine of the quote: it moves from the accidental to the sacred, from a good night out to the kind of stillness that survives a bad year.
The subtext is a gentle argument against the modern reflex to treat silence as emptiness. Williams reframes quiet as evidence of abundance, not absence. It’s also a sober, grown-up take on gratitude: the laughing parts are easy to name, the quiet parts take practice to recognize. The sentence has a lullaby cadence - “we know... we know...” - like a mantra you repeat when your confidence is wobbling.
“And we will not be alone” lands as both promise and insistence. It’s communal language (“we”) that refuses the heroic solo narrative. In a culture obsessed with self-sufficiency, Williams slips in a counter-myth: the real miracle isn’t constant joy, it’s continuity - the sense that someone is there in the noise and in the hush. This is folk songwriting’s great trick: making endurance feel like intimacy.
The subtext is a gentle argument against the modern reflex to treat silence as emptiness. Williams reframes quiet as evidence of abundance, not absence. It’s also a sober, grown-up take on gratitude: the laughing parts are easy to name, the quiet parts take practice to recognize. The sentence has a lullaby cadence - “we know... we know...” - like a mantra you repeat when your confidence is wobbling.
“And we will not be alone” lands as both promise and insistence. It’s communal language (“we”) that refuses the heroic solo narrative. In a culture obsessed with self-sufficiency, Williams slips in a counter-myth: the real miracle isn’t constant joy, it’s continuity - the sense that someone is there in the noise and in the hush. This is folk songwriting’s great trick: making endurance feel like intimacy.
Quote Details
| Topic | Gratitude |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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