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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.

Sue Monk Kidd

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Sue Monk Kidd
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: August 12
Novelist
Writer
Sylvester
Georgia
Went
Recall
Whether
Recalls
School
Tea
Unscrew
Hard
Charm
Pickle
Giving
Relate
Pickles
Meant
Adolescent
Boys
Jars
Learned
Pour

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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 came to believe that my true identity goes beyond the outer roles I play. It transcends the ego. I came to understand that there is an Authentic 'I' within - an 'I Am,' or divine spark within the soul.
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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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He'd gone to church for forty years and was only getting worse. It seemed like this should tell God something.
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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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Stopping is a spiritual art. It is the refuge where we drink life in.
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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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My children have always existed at the deepest center of me, right there in the heart/hearth, but I struggled with the powerful demands of motherhood, chafing sometimes at the way they pulled me away from my separate life, not knowing how to balance them with my unwieldy need for solitude and creative expression.
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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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I can't think of anything I'd rather have more than somebody lovin' me.
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Until we look from the bottom up we have nothing.
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The world depends upon the small beating in your heart.
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I worried so much about how I looked and whether I was doing things right, I felt half the time I was impersonating a girl instead of really being one.
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I learned a long time ago that some people would rather die than forgive. It's a strange truth, but forgiveness is a painful and difficult process. It's not something that happens overnight. It's an evolution of the heart.
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I missed Rosaleen's snoring the way you'd miss the sound of the ocean waves after you've gotten used to sleeping with them. I didn't realize how it had comforted me. Quiteness has a strange, spongy hum that can nearly break your eardrums.
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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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T. Ray said 'Who do you think you are? Julias Shakespeare?' The man sincerely thought that was Shakespeare's first name, and if you think I should have corrected him, you are ignorant about the art of survival.
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Now and then sprays of rain flew over and misted our faces. Every time I refused to wipe away the wetness. It made the world seem so alive to me. I couldn't help but envy the way a good storm got everyone's attention.
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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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Just to be is holy, just to live is a gift.
Sue Monk Kidd