What do you think was the first sound to become a word, a meaning?...I imagined two people without words, unable to speak to each other. I imagined the need: The color of the sky that meant 'storm.' T...
What do you think was the first sound to become a word, a meaning?...
It's both rebellion and conformity that attack you with success.
I loved fairy tales when I was a kid. Grimm. The grimmer the better. I loved gruesome gothic tales and, in that respect, I liked Bible stories, because to me they were very gothic.
Maybe all Americans who suffer from melancholy act as if they have gone mad. But I truly thought he might throw himself in the river, and I don't want his ghost visiting to keep telling me he's sorry.
I am ashamed she is ashamed. Because she is my daughter and I am proud of her, and I am her mother but she is not proud of me.
I am a miserable cook but an extremely talented eater.
When I returned home that day, I saw my life as if I already knew the happy ending of a story. I looked around the house and thought, soon I will no longer have to see these walls and all the unhappin...
A mother is always the beginning. She is how things begin.
You can't stay in the dark for too long. Something inside you starts to fade, and you become like a starving person, crazy-hungry for light.
No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same world wit...
I would find myself laughing and wondering where these ideas came from. You can call it imagination, I suppose. But I was grateful for wherever they came from.
Too much happiness always overflowed into tears of sorrow.
Your tears do not wash away your sorrows. They feed someone else's joy. And that is why you must learn to swallow your own tears.
My mother believed in God's will for many years. It was af if she had turned on a celestial faucet and goodness kept pouring out. She said it was faith that kept all these good things coming our way,...
Fate is shaped half by expectation, half by inattention.
As she grew older, she was aware of her changing position on mortality. In her youth, the topic of death was philosophical; in her thirties it was unbearable and in her forties unavoidable. In her fif...
What is the past but what we choose to remember?
Wisdom is like a bottomless pond. You throw stones in and they sink into darkness and dissolve. Her eyes looking back do not reflect anything.I think this to myself even though I love my daughter. She...
When the anesthesia of love wears off,you suffer the pain of consequence.