Sue Monk Kidd
Sue Monk Kidd
Sue Monk Kiddis a writer from the Southern United States, best known for her novel, The Secret Life of Bees...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth12 August 1948
CountryUnited States of America
tiny dangerous shattering
She didn't even know how dangerous the truth could be, all the tiny, shattering seeds it carried.
littles steps lost
Where had I been that I didn't know about imaginary friends? I could see the point of it. How a lost part of yourself steps out and remind you who you could be with a little work.
people kind wonder
I watched him, filled with tenderness and ache, wondering what it was that connected us. Was it the wounded places down inside people that sought each other out, that bred a kind of love between them?
august enough ifs
Actually, you can be bad at something...but if you love doing it, that will be enough. - August Boatwright
like-you not-afraid dies
When it's time to die, go ahead and die, and when it's time to live, live. Don't sort-of-maybe live, but live like you're going all out, like you're not afraid.
ideas people secret
Most people don't have any idea about all the complicated life going on inside a hive. Bees have a secret life we don't know anything about.
pain heart able
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.
regret helping
Regrets don't help anything.
years church gone
He'd gone to church for forty years and was only getting worse. It seemed like this should tell God something.
wall air bird
I don't remember what they said, only the fury of their words, how the air turned raw and full of welts. Later it would remind me of birds trapped inside a closed room, flinging themselves against the windows and the walls, against each other.
writing mail letters
Have you ever written a letter you knew you could never mail but you needed to write it anyway?
death heaven gold
Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through. When I'm dead and gone, That's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, But I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through.
ocean home needs
Everybody needs a seashell in her bathroom to remind her the ocean is her home.
girl mother autumn
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.