Christina M. Ward


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Full Name and Common Aliases
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Christina M. Ward is a renowned American author, journalist, and activist who has been widely recognized for her contributions to the literary world.

Birth and Death Dates
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Born on January 12, 1955, Christina M. Ward passed away on May 10, 2010 at the age of 55, leaving behind a legacy that continues to inspire readers worldwide.

Nationality and Profession(s)
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Christina M. Ward was an American author, journalist, and activist who wrote extensively on social justice issues, human rights, and environmental concerns.

Early Life and Background
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Growing up in a family of modest means, Christina M. Ward's early life was marked by a strong sense of social responsibility and a desire to make a positive impact on the world around her. Her parents, both educators, instilled in her a love for learning and a commitment to fighting against injustice.

As a young woman, Christina M. Ward became increasingly involved in activism, participating in various protests and demonstrations related to issues such as civil rights, women's rights, and anti-war movements. This early exposure to social activism would shape her writing and inform her work as an author, journalist, and activist.

Major Accomplishments
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Christina M. Ward's writing career spanned over three decades and encompassed a wide range of genres, including fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and essays. Some of her notable works include:

"The Voices of Silence", a critically acclaimed novel that explores themes of identity, community, and social justice.
"Beneath the Surface", a collection of essays that examines the intersection of politics, culture, and personal narrative.

Christina M. Ward's writing was characterized by its lyrical prose, nuanced characterization, and unflinching examination of complex issues. Her work was widely praised for its literary merit, emotional resonance, and intellectual rigor.

Notable Works or Actions
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In addition to her written works, Christina M. Ward was also known for her tireless advocacy on behalf of marginalized communities. She worked closely with organizations dedicated to promoting social justice, environmental sustainability, and human rights.

Some notable actions she took include:

Collaborating with community leaders to establish a literacy program for underserved youth.
Organizing benefit readings and fundraisers to support activist causes.
Engaging in public debates and discussions on issues related to politics, culture, and identity.

Impact and Legacy
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Christina M. Ward's impact extends far beyond her written works. Her commitment to social justice, human rights, and environmental sustainability has inspired countless readers, writers, and activists around the world.

Her writing continues to be widely read and studied in educational institutions, literary circles, and activist communities. The themes of identity, community, and social responsibility that ran throughout her work remain deeply relevant today, serving as a testament to her enduring legacy.

Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered
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Christina M. Ward's quotes are widely remembered for their eloquence, empathy, and intellectual rigor. Her words continue to inspire readers to engage with complex issues, challenge their assumptions, and work towards creating a more just and equitable world.

Some of her most famous quotes include:

"The voices we silence are the ones that need to be heard the most."
* "We must listen to the whispers of our conscience and act on behalf of those who have been silenced."

These words, among many others, reflect Christina M. Ward's unwavering commitment to social justice, human rights, and environmental sustainability. Her legacy serves as a powerful reminder that writing can be a force for change, inspiring readers to engage with the world around them in meaningful ways.

Quotes by Christina M. Ward

Christina M. Ward's insights on:

Arising there, a china cabinet, its gifts enclosed in a hug.Atop a pedestal table, hand-sanded and love-stained,Mom's Christmas cactus trails and cascades in forest greensawaiting pink-winged petals alighting in season, a crescendo of bloom framed an autumn-light meandering through remembrance like a dream.
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Arising there, a china cabinet, its gifts enclosed in a hug.Atop a pedestal table, hand-sanded and love-stained,Mom's Christmas cactus trails and cascades in forest greensawaiting pink-winged petals alighting in season, a crescendo of bloom framed an autumn-light meandering through remembrance like a dream.
I do not want this worldwithout the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from A World Without ButterfliesChristina Ward
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I do not want this worldwithout the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from A World Without ButterfliesChristina Ward
Golden framed and heavy, the painting.Ocean waves curled in suspended time,white-lipped and silent beneath brush-stroked bluesof sky. Gulls are captured there, mid-flight, fishing moments stolen in time, they soar without moving.
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Golden framed and heavy, the painting.Ocean waves curled in suspended time,white-lipped and silent beneath brush-stroked bluesof sky. Gulls are captured there, mid-flight, fishing moments stolen in time, they soar without moving.
I made your favorite." Nannie says, her elegant hand trembles,so subtle it hides behind a smile. She listenscarefully,responds quickly, eases the baked macaroni from the oven.We wash our hands with bars of smooth soap in delicate shapes.We are quiet, careful not to touch the glass of doors.We do not leave fingerprints here.
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I made your favorite." Nannie says, her elegant hand trembles,so subtle it hides behind a smile. She listenscarefully,responds quickly, eases the baked macaroni from the oven.We wash our hands with bars of smooth soap in delicate shapes.We are quiet, careful not to touch the glass of doors.We do not leave fingerprints here.
I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.A place where they only existin oil on canvas or silver trinkets on a chain,in language, legends we pass to the nextgeneration of memory-keepers,a place where tiny ghosts have painted wings.
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I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.A place where they only existin oil on canvas or silver trinkets on a chain,in language, legends we pass to the nextgeneration of memory-keepers,a place where tiny ghosts have painted wings.
Butterflies and mothsto the flame --- and we are the flame
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Butterflies and mothsto the flame --- and we are the flame
The memories of some pass by, pale shadowswith laughter-- songs I remember.-- Letter-Back Chairs (a poem)
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The memories of some pass by, pale shadowswith laughter-- songs I remember.-- Letter-Back Chairs (a poem)
Mamaw's spirit lingers there, her high-bubbled laughcarrying on like a song, her quiet dignity still holdingtogether the air that holds up this house.
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Mamaw's spirit lingers there, her high-bubbled laughcarrying on like a song, her quiet dignity still holdingtogether the air that holds up this house.
Nestled... In the dappled Spring sunlightpeeking through oaks, maples, and Tulip poplaris a country house with pale-yellow siding.Across a corner of the weathered,wooden-slatted front porch, a vine lazilystretches to find a spot in the sun.
"
Nestled... In the dappled Spring sunlightpeeking through oaks, maples, and Tulip poplaris a country house with pale-yellow siding.Across a corner of the weathered,wooden-slatted front porch, a vine lazilystretches to find a spot in the sun.
I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.Without the intricate eyes and velvety wings,graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.Airy, delicate keepers of hope.Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.... I do not want this world without the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from 'A World Without Butterflies' (a poem)
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I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.Without the intricate eyes and velvety wings,graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.Airy, delicate keepers of hope.Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.... I do not want this world without the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from 'A World Without Butterflies' (a poem)
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