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Yesterday I sat in a field of violets for a long time perfectly still, until I really sank into it - into the rhythm of the place, I mean - then when I got up to go home I couldn't walk quickly or evenly because I was still in time with the field.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

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Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Age: 94 †
Born: 1906
Born: June 22
Died: 2001
Died: February 7
Aircraft Pilot
Author
Diarist
Glider Pilot
Poet
Writer
Englewood
New Jersey
Anne Lindbergh
Anne Morrow
Anne Spencer Morrow
Anne Spencer Morrow Lindbergh
Anne Spencer Lindbergh
Really
Walk
Sat
Time
Walks
Perfectly
Place
Rhythm
Stills
Quickly
Home
Yesterday
Evenly
Still
Field
Violets
Mean
Fields
Sank
Long
Couldn
Violet

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For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.
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I have been overcome by the beauty and richness of our life together, those early mornings setting out, those evenings gleaming with rivers and lakes below us, still holding the last light.
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the final lesson of learning to be independent - widowhood ... is the hardest lesson of all.
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When the heart is flooded with love there is no room in it for fear, for doubt, for hesitation.
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It is not restful, it is not possible to talk wholeheartedly to more than one person at a time. You can't really talk with a person unless you surrender to them, for the moment (all other talk is futile). You can't surrender to more than one person a moment.
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Only with winter-patience can we bring the deep-desired, long-awaited Spring.
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Why is life speeded up so? Why are things so terribly, unbearably precious that you can't enjoy them but can only wait breathless in dread of their going?
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My father taught me that a bill is like a crying baby and has to be attended to at once.
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For relationships, too, must be like islands. One must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits - islands surrounded and interrupted by the sea, continuously visited and abandoned by the tides. One must accept the serenity of the winged life, of ebb and flow, of intermittency.
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To mention a loved object, a person, or a place to someone else is to invest that object with reality.
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I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can.
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Flowers always have it - poise, completion, fulfillment, perfection . . .
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Go with the pain, let it take you. Open your palms and your body to the pain. It comes in waves like the tide and you must be open as a vessel lying on the beach, letting it fill you up and then, retreating, leaving you empty and clear.
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One must lose one's life to find it.
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Woman's normal occupations in general run counter to creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life.
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For in our family an experience was not finished, not truly experienced, unless written down or shared with another.
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... writing letters is thinking, just as talking to you is thinking.
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Great problems that face the world today in both the private and the public sphere cannot be solved by women – or by men – alone. They can only be surmounted by men and women side by side.
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