I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.
Anne Morrow LindberghArranging a bowl of flowers in the morning sun can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day - like writing a poem, or saying a prayer.
Anne Morrow LindberghMots clés simple-living barbour-publishing ellyn-sanna
Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after.
Anne Morrow LindberghMots clés conversation
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You can’t just write and write and put things in a drawer. They wither without the warm sun of someone else’s appreciation.
Anne Morrow LindberghMots clés writing appreciation
If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments.
Anne Morrow LindberghWhen you love someone you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom
Anne Morrow LindberghHow inexplicable it seems. Anything else will be accepted as a better excuse. If one sets aside time for a business appointment, a trip to the hairdresser, a social engagement or a shopping expedition, that time is accepted as inviolable. But if one says: I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical or strange.
Anne Morrow LindberghThe most exhausting thing in life, I have discovered, is being insincere.
Anne Morrow LindberghThere is, of course, always the personal satisfaction of writing down one's experiences so they may be saved, caught and pinned under glass, hoarded against the winter of forgetfulness. Time has been cheated a little, at least in one's own life, and a personal, trivial immortality of an old self assured. And there is another personal satisfaction: that of the people who like to recount their adventures, the diary-keepers, the story-tellers, the letter-writers, a strange race of people who feel half cheated of an experience unless it is retold. It does not really exist until it is put into words. As though a little doubting or dull, they could not see it until it is repeated. For, paradoxically enough, the more unreal an experience becomes - translated from real action into unreal words, dead symbols for life itself - the more vivid it grows. Not only does it seem more vivid, but its essential core becomes clearer. One says excitedly to an audience, 'Do you see - I can't tell you how strange it was - we all of us felt...' although actually, at the time of incident, one was not conscious of such a feeling, and only became so in the retelling. It is as inexplicable as looking all afternoon at a gray stone of a beach, and not realizing, until one tries to put it on canvas, that is in reality bright blue.
Anne Morrow LindberghMots clés writing time stories meaning feeling journals experiences
Yesterday's fairy tale is today's fact. The magician is only one step ahead of his audience.
Anne Morrow LindberghMots clés science reality fact fairy-tales magic
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