Quotes about Reflection

What happened to the man I love?'... 'Albert knew as well as me that love would have to go some to be better than ours. Us had the kind of love couldn't be improve. That's what I thought.

I remember one time you said your life made you feel so ashamed you couldn't even talk about it to God, you had to write it, bad as you thought your writing was. Well, now I know what you meant. And whether God will read letters or no, I know you will go on writing them; which is guidance enough for me. Anyway, when I don't write to you I feel as bad as I do when I don't pray, locked up in myself and choking on my own heart.

We're asleep, said Suni. Just walking and talking, eating and shitting. Sound asleep. And we have to be that way, of course, said Anne. It's the human equivalent of fallowness. Spiritual hibernation, said Suni.

There is a way forward and yes it is with a broken heart but it is our own way collectively convened, pondered, shared.

I think us here to wonder, myself. To wonder. To ast. And that in wondering bout the big things and asting bout the big things, you learn about the little ones, almost by accident. But you never know nothing more about the big things than you start out with. The more I wonder, the more I love.

Some people don't understand that it is the nature of the eye to have seen forever, and the nature of the mind to recall anything that was ever known.

If you know your heart sorry, I say, that mean it not quite as spoilt as you think.

Trying to chase that old white man out of my head. I been so busy thinking bout him I never truly notice nothing God make. Not a blade of corn (how it do that?) not the color purple (where it come from?). Not the little wildflowers. Nothing.

It not my salvation she working for. And if she don't learn she got to face judgment for herself, she won't even have live.

He had no such dreams, certainly. And if he had them, he did not recall them, on rising. Nor could he fathom why this should be so. In fact, dreams, the world of dreams, did not exist for him, as it existed for her. And unlike her, he did not sit before the dwindling fire of their hearth wondering, pondering, nagging the question really, What does this mean?

Or are they saying simply that they can not and will not be bothered to listen to what is said about an accepted tradition of which they are a part, that has gone on, as far as they know, forever?

An American, I said, sighing, but understanding my love of my adopted country perhaps for the first time: an American looks like a wounded person whose wound is hidden from others, and sometimes from herself. An American looks like me.