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Gazing into the mirror, I saw myself as I was-a black silhouette in the room, a woman whose darkness had completely leaked through.

Sue Monk Kidd

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Sue Monk Kidd
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: August 12
Novelist
Writer
Sylvester
Georgia
Woman
Mirror
Black
Mirrors
Saws
Whose
Completely
Leaked
Darkness
Silhouette
Room
Silhouettes
Rooms
Gazing

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I can't think of anything I'd rather have more than somebody lovin' me.
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I vividly remember the summer of 1964 with its voter registration drives, boiling racial tensions, and the erupting awareness of the cruelty of racism. I was never the same after that summer.
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I could even feel how perishable all my moments really were, how all my life they had come to me begging to be lived, to be cherished even.
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Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through it.
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Every little thing wants to be loved.
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To fashion an inner story of our pain carries us into the heart of it, which is where rebirth inevitably occurs.
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I found that I could not climb my way up to God in a blaze of doing and performing. Rather, I had to descend into the depths of myself and find God there in the darkness of troubled waters.
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We must err , do so on the side of audacity
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Sometimes I didn't even feel like getting out of bed. I took to wearing my days-of-the-week panties out of order. It could be Monday and I'd have on underwear saying Thursday. I just didn't care.
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Honeybees depend not only on physical contact with the colony, but also require it's social companionship and support. Isolate a honeybee from her sisters and she will soon die.
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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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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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In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy, with the feeling I was exceptional... What a special case I was.
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I have noticed that if you look carefully at people's eyes the first five seconds they look at you, the truth of their feelings will shine through for just an instant before it flickers away.
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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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Until we look from the bottom up we have nothing.
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Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time.
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There's release in knowing the truth no matter how anguishing it is. You come finally to the irreducible thing, and there's nothing left to do but pick it up and hold it. Then, at last, you can enter the severe mercy of acceptance.
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I didn't know then what I wanted, but the ache for it was palpable.
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I wished she'd been smart enough, or loving enough, to realize everybody has burdens that crush them, only they don't give up their children.
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