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Look, I know you meant well creating the world and all, but how could you let it get away from you like this? How come you couldn't stick with your original idea of paradise? People's lives were a mess.
Sue Monk Kidd
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Sue Monk Kidd
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: August 12
Novelist
Writer
Sylvester
Georgia
Well
Creating
Paradise
Looks
Idea
Stick
Like
Lives
Originals
World
Away
Mess
People
Ideas
Original
Look
Sticks
Wells
Meant
Come
Couldn
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We must err , do so on the side of audacity
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You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair.
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We are so limited, you have to use the same word for loving Rosaleen as you do for loving Coke with peanuts. Isn't that a shame we don't have many more ways to say it?
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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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Did you know there are thirty-two names for love in one of the Eskimo languages? August said. And we just have this one. We are so limited, you have to use the same word.
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We have to acknowledge sometimes that this moment is enough. This place is enough. I am enough.
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I can't think of anything I'd rather have more than somebody lovin' me.
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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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Still everyone, including the abbot, had said that he was running away from his grief. They'd had no idea what they were talking about. He'd cradled his grief, almost to the point of loving it. For so long he refused to give it up, because leaving it behind was like leaving her.
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Nobody should go through life without falling in love.
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So few people know what they're capable of.
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Into every life a little rain must fall.
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Sunset is the saddest light there is.
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Until we look from the bottom up we have nothing.
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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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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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the feminine journey is a story unfolding, and its epiphanies come through real things, through tangibles like walking sticks and dreams and deer antlers--all of which we might miss without taking time and space in Deep Being.
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You have to know when to prod and when to be quiet, when to let things take their course.
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If you aren't giving people something to talk about, you've become too dull.
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When it comes to religion today, we tend to be long on butterflies and short on cocoons. Somehow we're going to have to relearn that the deep things of God don't come suddenly.
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