It seemed rather incongruous that in a society of super sophisticated communication, we often suffer from a shortage of listeners.
It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.
Cats invented self-esteem.
A member of the committee slapped a name tag over my left bosom. "What shall we name the other one?" I smiled. She was not amused.
Laughter rises out of tragedy when you need it the most, and rewards you for your courage.
All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them.
Mothers are not the nameless, faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time the best way they know how. No mother is all good or all bad, all laughing or all serious, all loving or all angry. Ambivalence rushes through their veins.
I've exercised with women so thin that buzzards followed them to their cars.
Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.
I haven't trusted polls since I read that 62% of women had affairs during their lunch hour. I've never met a woman in my life who would give up lunch for sex.
The grass is always greener over the septic tank.
I worry about scientists discovering that lettuce has been fattening all along.
Women are never what they seem to be. There is the woman you see and there is the woman who is hidden. Buy the gift for the woman who is hidden.
I remember thinking how often we look, but never see ... we listen, but never hear ... we exist, but never feel. We take our relationships for granted. A house is only a place. It has no life of its own. It needs human voices, activity and laughter to come alive.
There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, 'Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams.' Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there. These are great dreams, but they never even get out of the box. It takes an uncommon amount of guts to put your dreams on the line, to hold them up and say, 'How good or how bad am I?' That's where courage comes in.
In two decades I've lost a total of 789 pounds. I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.
A grandparent will help you with your buttons, your zippers, and your shoelaces and not be in any hurry for you to grow up.
I read one psychologist's theory that said, "Never strike a child in your anger." When could I strike him? When he is kissing me on my birthday? When he's recuperating from measles? Do I slap the Bible out of his hand on Sunday?
One thing they never tell you about child raising is that for the rest of your life, at the drop of a hat, you are expected to know your child's name and how old he or she is.
I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear clothes.
A grandmother pretends she doesn't know who you are on Halloween.
Shopping is a woman thing. It's a contact sport like football. Women enjoy the scrimmage, the noisy crowds, the danger of being trampled to death, and the ecstasy of the purchase.
It's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have...One pair that see through closed doors. Another in the back of her head...and, of course, the ones in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and reflect 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word.
Thanks to my mother, not a single cardboard box has found its way back into society. We receive gifts in boxes from stores that went out of business twenty years ago.
There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.
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