Linda Hogan Quotes

Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.

Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing.

There is a way that nature speaks, that land speaks. Most of the time we are simply not patient enough, quiet enough, to pay attention to the story.

tears have a purpose. they are what we carry of the ocean, and perhaps we must become the sea, give ourselves to it, if we are to be transformed.

We make art out of our loss.

It is a paradox in the contemporary world that in our desire for peace we must willingly give ourselves to struggle.

Poetry has its own laws speaking for the life of the planet. It is a language that wants to bring back together what the other words have torn apart.

The crocodile doesn't harm the bird that cleans his teeth for him. He eats the others but not that one.

Mystery is part of each life, and maybe it is healthier to uphold it than to spend a lifetime in search of half-made answers.

Telling about our lives is important for those who come after as, for those who will see our experience as part of their own historical struggle.

Poetry is a string of words that parades without a permit.

A spoken story is larger than one unheard, unsaid. In nearly all creation accounts, words or songs are how the world was created, the animals sung into existence.

Between earth and earth's atmosphere, the amount of water remains constant; there is never a drop more, never a drop less. This is a story of circular infinity, of a planet birthing itself.

There is a geography of the human spirit, common to all peoples.

Death is dancing me ragged.

There is a language beyond human language, an elemental language, one that arises from the land itself.

I resented my mother for guessing my innermost secrets. She was like God, everywhere at once knowing everything.

We are full of bread and gas, getting fat on the outside while inside we grow thin

All the stories live in our bodies, he thinks. Every last one.

When men decide in their secretly dark or hungry hearts to work their own will, there is little that can stop them. They have inner weather, sometimes unpredictable.

Oblivion, she thought. That was the world she lived in. It was what they should name some countries, towns, and places.

What a strange alchemy we have worked, turning earth around to destroy itself, using earth's own elements to wound it.

There is no real aloneness. There is solitude and the nurturing silence that is relationship with ourselves, but even then we are part of something larger.