It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.
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. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because 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.
My mother's life was way too heavy for me.
Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here.
The world will give you that once in awhile, a brief timeout; the boxing bell rings and you go to your corner, where somebody dabs mercy on your beat-up life.
There's nothing like a song about lost love to remind you how everything precious can slip from the hinges where you've hung it so careful.
We walked along the river with the words streaming behind us like ribbons in the night.
You gotta imagine what's never been.
At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.
In the photograph by my bed my mother is perpetually smiling on me. I guess I have forgiven us both, although sometimes in the night my dreams will take me back to the sadness, and I have to wake up and forgive us again.
That's what I told myself five hundred times: impossibility. I can tell you this much: the word is a great big log thrown on the fires of love. ~Page 133.
You think you want to know something, and then once you do, all you can think about is erasing it from your mind.
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.
It was the first time I'd ever said the words to another person, and the sound of them broke open my heart.
The hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters.
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.
Egg laying is the main thing, Lily. She's the mother of every bee in the hive, and they all depend on her to keep it going. I don't care what their job is--they know the queen is their mother. She's the mother of thousands.
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.
The whole problem with people is they don't know what matters and what doesn't.
I know you've run away - everybody gets the urge to do that some time - but sooner or later you'll want to go home.
Every human being on the face of the earth has a steel plate in his head, but if you lie down now and then and get still as you can, it will slide open like elevator doors, letting in all the secret thoughts that have been standing around so patiently, pushing the button for a ride to the top. The real troubles in life happen when those hidden doors stay closed for too long.
It's your time to live, don't mess it up.
The whole problem with people is...they know what matters, but they don't choose it.
I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it.
Every little thing wants to be loved.
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.
This is the autumn of wonders, yet every day, every single day, I go back to that burned afternoon in August when T. Ray left. I go back to that one moment when I stood in the driveway with small rocks and clumps of dirt around my feet and looked back at the porch. And there they were. All these mothers. I have more mothers than any eight girls off the street. They are the moons shining over me.
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.
Every living creature on the earth is special. You want to be the one that puts an end to one of them?
Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through it.
More Sue Monk Kidd Quotations (Based on Topics)
Life - World - Mothers - Love - People - Home - Night - Death & Dying - Work & Career - Time - Sadness - Faces - Mind - Children - Lies & Deceit - Water - Autumn - Thought & Thinking - Idea - View All Sue Monk Kidd Quotations
More Sue Monk Kidd Quotations (By Book Titles)
- The Secret Life of Bees
Niccolo Machiavelli - Dale Carnegie - William Arthur Ward - Robert Louis Stevenson - Karen Armstrong - Henry Lawson - Edward Fairfax - Charles Caleb Colton - Catherine Crowe - Anthony Hope