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How often do we do that, he wondered--look at someone and fail to see what's really there?

Sue Monk Kidd

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Sue Monk Kidd
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: August 12
Novelist
Writer
Sylvester
Georgia
Failing
Often
Someone
Look
Looks
Really
Wondered
Fail

More quotes by Sue Monk Kidd

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History is not just facts and events. History is also a pain in the heart and we repeat history until we are able to make another's pain in the heart our own.
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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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Just to be is holy, just to live is a gift.
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You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside
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You are my everlasting home. Don't you ever be afraid. I am enough. We are enough.
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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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It was the in-between time, before day leaves and night comes, a time I’ve never been partial to because of the sadness that lingers in the space between going and coming.
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You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair.
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So I taught Sunday school and brought dishes to all manner of potlucks and tried to adjust the things I heard from the pulpit to my increasingly incongruent faith.
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You can't stop your heart from loving, really -- it's like standing out there in the ocean yelling at the waves to stop.
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Knowing can be a curse on a person's life. I'd traded in a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn't know which one was heavier.
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I sit in my new room and write everything down. My heart never stops talking.
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My ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul. Period.
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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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I'd forgotten how that sort of craving felt, how it rose suddenly and loudly from the pit of my stomach like a flock of startle birds, then floated back down in the slow, beguiling way of feathers.
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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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The world depends upon the small beating in your heart.
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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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You create a path of your own by looking within yourself and listening to your soul, cultivating your own ways of experiencing the sacred and then practicing it. Practicing until you make it a song that sings you.
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I believe in the goodness of imagination.
Sue Monk Kidd