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Someone who thinks death is the scariest thing doesn't know a thing about life.

Sue Monk Kidd

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Sue Monk Kidd
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: August 12
Novelist
Writer
Sylvester
Georgia
Thinks
Death
Doesn
Someone
Thing
Thinking
Life
Scariest

More quotes by Sue Monk Kidd

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Once you know the truth, you can’t ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.
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Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through it.
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The world depends upon the small beating in your heart.
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You can go other places, all right - you can live on the other side of the world, but you can't ever leave home
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And when you get down to it, Lily, that is the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love but to persist in love.
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I think many people need, even require, a narrative version of their life. I seem to be one of them. Writing memoir is, in some ways, a work of wholeness.
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You don't have to place your hand on Mary's heart to get strength and consolation and rescue, and all the other things we need to get through life. You can place it right here on your own heart. Your own heart.
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I'd heard August say more than once, If you need something from somebody, always give that person a way to hand it to you. T. Ray needed a face-saving way to hand me over, and August was giving it to him.
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the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.
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I said, If I was a Negro girl- He placed his fingers across my lips so I tasted his saltiness. We can't think of changing our skin, he said. Change the world-that's how we gotta think.
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That's the sacred intent of life, of God--to move us continuously toward growth, toward recovering all that is lost and orphaned within us and restoring the divine image imprinted on our soul.
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Something deep in all of us yearns for God's beauty, and we can find it no matter where we are.
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Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here.
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Probably one or two moments in your whole life you will hear a dark whispering spirit, a voice coming from the center of things. It will have blades for lips and will not stop until it speaks the one secret thing at the heart of it all. Kneeling on the floor, unable to stop shuddering, I heard it plainly. It said, You are unlovable.
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As an adolescent, I went to charm school, where I learned to pour tea and relate to boys, which, as I recall, meant giving them the pickle jar to unscrew, whether it was too hard for me or not.
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Drifting off to sleep, I thought about her. How nobody is perfect. How you just have to close your eyes and breathe out and let the puzzle of the human heart be what it is.
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I realize what a strange in-between place I am in. The Young Woman inside has turned to go, but the Old Woman has not shown up.
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There is nothing perfect...only life.
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I'll write this all down for you, I said. I'll put it in a story. I don't know if that's what he wanted to ask me, but it's something everybody wants--for someone to see the hurt done to them and set it down like it matters.
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So few people know what they're capable of.
Sue Monk Kidd