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Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

Mary E. Pearson

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Mary E. Pearson
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: August 14
Teacher
Writer
SoCal
Mary E. Pearson
M.E. Pearson
Economists
Percentages
Economist
Polls
Define
Politicians
Identity
Politician

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There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.
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On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.
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I don't want five hundred billion neural chips. I want guts.
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It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.
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Pieces. Isn't that what all of life is anyway? Shards. Bits. Moments. Am I less because I have fewer, or do the few I have mean more?
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I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.
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One small changed family doesn't calculate into a world that has been spinning for a billion years. But one small change makes the world spin differently in a billion ways for one family.
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Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.
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Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)
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It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.
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What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.
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I wonder at the weight of a Sparrow.
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Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?
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It's other people who make us wise, and I haven't known nearly enough.
Mary E. Pearson
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He believes me. But that is nothing new. He always did because I was a rule follower. I played by the rules he understood. But there are new rules now, ones he doesn't know yet. He'll learn. Just as I'm learning.
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Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.
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But I am more than a name. More than they tell me
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I think that maybe forgiveness is like change - it comes in small steps. (256)
Mary E. Pearson
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I still cry on waking. I'm not sure why. I feel nothing. Nothing I can name, anyway. It's like breathing - something that happens over which I have no control. (6)
Mary E. Pearson
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When you are perfect, is there anywhere else to go?
Mary E. Pearson