And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.
I do not want to pass the time. I want to grab hold of it and leave my mark upon the world.
If you tell them what they want to hear, they don't bother to try to see.
I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.
I refuse to let the past find me here.
Gemma, you see how it is. They've planned our entire lives, from what we shall wear to whom we shall marry and where we shall live. It's one lump of sugar in your tea whether you like it or not and you'd best smile even if you're dying deep inside. We're like pretty horses, and just as on horses, they mean to put blinders on us so we can't look left or right but only straight ahead where they would lead. Please, please, please, Gemma, let's not die inside before we have to.
Retribution is a dog chasing its tail.
Sometimes we seek that which we are not yet ready to find.
The hand you hold the longest is your own.
There are no safe choices. Only other choices.
Women who have power are always feared.
Write like it matters, and it will.
People will believe anything if it means they can go on with their lives and not have to think too hard about it.
Maybe that's what real friendship is -- getting so used to people that you need to be annoyed by them.
I love you for who you are, not who the world thinks you should be.
We're all strangers connected by what we reveal, what we share, what we take away--our stories. I guess that's what I love about books--they are thin strands of humanity that tether us to one another for a small bit of time, that make us feel less alone or even more comfortable with our aloneness, if need be.
To those who will see, the world waits.
There is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.
Jeez, someone needs to push the reset button on this planet.
I know because I read...Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
Men have feelings too, you know. You bruise the petals of my manflower.
One can never go back. One always has to move forward.
What if evil doesn't really exist? What if evil is something dreamed up by man, and there is nothing to struggle against except out own limitations? The constant battle between our will, our desires, and our choices?
You couldn't be perfect enough to keep the world from betraying you.
May I suggest that you all read? And often. Believe me, it's nice to have something to talk about other than the weather and the Queen's health. Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
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