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
black shame glory
Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time.
heart sleep eye
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.
bees imagine secret-life
You gotta imagine what's never been.
sunset light saddest
Sunset is the saddest light there is.
childhood paddling soup
all that paddling around in the alphabet soup of one's childhood, scooping up letters, hoping to arrange them into enlightening sentences that would explain why things had turned out the way they had. It evoked a certain mutiny in me.
boxing giving dabs
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.
quiet knows courses
You have to know when to prod and when to be quiet, when to let things take their course.
girl mother hair
You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair...
august hands giving
I'd heard August say more than once, "If you need something from somebody, always give that person a way to hand it to you." T. Ray needed a face-saving way to hand me over, and August was giving it to him.
heart simple feet
The awakening passed from simple recognition of my need for God at the center of my life, to a depth where the will is stirred And that is a deeper place by far. That is the place of response, of unifying one's heart, mind, soul and feet around a decision.
ocean heart yelling
You can't stop your heart from loving, really -- it's like standing out there in the ocean yelling at the waves to stop.
what-matters people problem
The whole problem with people is they don't know what matters and what doesn't.
sunset night purple
the redness had seeped from the day and night was arranging herself around us. Cooling things down, staining and dyeing the evening purple and blue black.
good-night mother mistake
Every person on the face of the earth makes mistakes, Lily. Every last one. We're all so human. Your mother made a terrible mistake, but she tried to fix it.' 'Good night,' I said, and rolled onto my side. 'There is nothing perfect,' August said from the doorway. 'There is only life.