Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Anne Spencer Lindberghwas an American author, aviator, and the wife of aviator Charles Lindbergh. She was an acclaimed author whose books and articles spanned the genres of poetry to non-fiction, touching upon topics as diverse as youth and age; love and marriage; peace, solitude and contentment, as well as the role of women in the 20th century. Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea is a popular inspirational book, reflecting on the lives of American women...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth22 June 1906
CountryUnited States of America
Anne Morrow Lindbergh quotes about
How inexplicable it seems. Anything else will be accepted as a better excuse. If one sets aside time for a business appointment, a trip to the hairdresser, a social engagement or a shopping expedition, that time is accepted as inviolable. But if one says: I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical or strange.
To be deeply in love is, of course, a great liberating force.
Frenchwomen just never look ungroomed, do they?
When we start at the center of ourselves, we discover something worthwhile extending toward the periphery of the circle. We find again some of the joy in the now, some of the peace in the here, some of the love in me and thee which go to make up the kingdom of heaven on earth.
To me there is something completely and satisfyingly restful in that stretch of sea and sand, sea and sand and sky - complete peace, complete fulfillment.
We must relearn to be alone.
Geniuses were like storms or cyclones, pulling everything into their path, sticks and stones and dust.
The most exhausting thing you can do is to be inauthentic.
By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.
Can one make the future a substitute for the present? And what guarantee have we that the future will be any better if we neglect the present?
Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.
What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it—like a secret vice!
Love is a force.... It is not a result; it is a cause. It is not a product; it produces.
Only with winter-patience can we bring the deep-desired, long-awaited Spring.