Maybe if I could slip into Sylvia's mind, sort out the spices in her rack, alphabetize them and dust them off. Maybe then I'd understand how it's the little things that pull you under.

Understand, it's never been easy to live, when we're trying to escape ourselves.

To suffer together is to suffer with beauty.

I place solitude in a frame on my desk and call it, the one I love.

We must live with our hearts in our hands - like Mary.We must hold the blood-red heart and no be disappointedwhen others look away.

As I go under, I wonder if there’s a reason for art?

Yes, it hurts to fall— ache, tenderness—but each scar is a sign your system is working.

She pours sugar on her life and drinks the artist’s marrow in the bone of her glass and she lives.

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

Like the kite that caught up to the sky, painted with clouds, I lost track of it, but it was connected by string, something I was holding, something I could always bring back.

Sometimes darknessis the beauty I am made of—

Whats the point of life if you're not rich XD

When history disappears, you disappear.

Oh, Celie, unbelief is a terrible thing. And so is the hurt we cause others unknowingly.

Eloquence is the painting of thought.

Such discoveries have led me, and other geologists, to reconsider the evidence previously derived from caves brought forward in proof of the high antiquity of Man.

Anything Anytime Anyplace For No Reason At All (or AAAFNRAA)

All things appear and disappear because of the concurrence of causes and conditions. Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relation to everything else.

"War gives men a plain-and-simple something to do ... Women write diaries in the hope that their words will beckon fate." It's a romantic manifesto.

Nobody is beyond the reach of the Gospel.

Cry my eyes out for days upon days Such a heaven burden placed upon me