Women in general seem to me to be appreciably more intelligent than men. A great many of them suffer in silence from the imbecilities of their husbands.
In a strange city, I connect through food and fantasy.
Clothes make a statement. Costumes tell a story.
Forgiveness is like faith. You have to keep reviving it.
Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.
Faith moves mountains, but you have to keep pushing while you are praying.
Imagination has rules, but we can only guess what they are.
The worries that are the burden of which the privileged person makes an excuse in dealing with the oppressed person are in fact the worries about preserving his privileged condition.
He that loveth, flieth, runneth, and rejoiceth. He is free, and cannot be held in. He giveth all for all, and hath all in all, because he resteth in one highest above all things, from whom all that is good flows and proceeds.
Mourning has become unfashionable in the United States. The bereaved are supposed to pull themselves together as quickly as possible and to reweave the torn fabric of life. . . . we do not allow. . . for the weeks and months during which a loss is realized - a beautiful word that suggests the transmutation of the strange into something that is one's own.
I am against the American system, not against its people.