Above all

11 March 2018

Above all, be the heroine of your own life, not the victim.

Nora Ephron

It came to me one day

10 March 2018

It came to me one day there were women doing this with their lives: They were just waiting and waiting by mailboxes for one letter or another. I imagined me making this journey day after day and year after year, and my hair starting to go gray, and I thought, I was never made to go on like that. So I stopped meeting the mail.

If there were women all through life waiting, and women busy and not waiting, I knew which I had to be.

Alice Munro

I Write

9 March 2018

I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice because they were so terrified, because we are taught to respect fear more than ourselves. We’ve been taught that silence would save us, but it won’t.

Audre Lorde

After all those years

8 March 2018
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After all those years as a woman hearing ‘not thin enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not this enough, not that enough,’ almost overnight I woke up one morning and thought, ‘I’m enough.’

Anna Quindlen

I have not ceased

7 March 2018

I have not ceased being fearful, but I have ceased to let fear control me.

Erica Jong

Things happen

6 March 2018
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Things happen, and you can’t make them unhappen. You don’t get do-overs, you can’t roll back the clock, and the only thing you can change, and the only thing it does any good to worry about, is how you let them affect you.

Jennifer Weiner


5 March 2018

Secrets are the kind of adventure she needs. Secrets are safe, and they do much to make you different. On the inside where it counts.

E.L. Konigsburg

The value

4 March 2018

The value of experience is not in seeing much, but in seeing wisely.

William Osler

The greater

3 March 2018

The greater the ignorance the greater the dogmatism.

William Osler

For the last several days

1 March 2018

For the last several days I’ve had the sudden and general urge to buy a new book. I’ve stopped off at a few bookstores around the city, and while I’ve looked at hundreds and hundreds of books in that time, I have not found the one book that will satisfy my urge. It’s not as if I don’t have anything to read; there’s a tower of perfectly good unread books next to my bed, not to mention the shelves of books in the living room I’ve been meaning to reread. I find myself, maddeningly, hungry for the next one, as yet unknown. I no longer try to analyze this hunger; I capitulated long ago to the book lust that’s afflicted me most of my life. I know enough about the course of the disease to know I’ll discover something soon.

Lewis Buzbee

The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop: A Memoir, a History

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