When your life has had few events to occupy it, it's amazing how a simple encounter can seem like an entire three-act play. Mary E. Pearson More Quotes by Mary E. Pearson More Quotes From Mary E. Pearson The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others. Mary E. Pearson identity should feels I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans. Mary E. Pearson greek perfection thinking Awareness There is a dark place. A place where I have no eyes, no mouth. No words. I can't cry out because I have no breath. The silence is so deep I want to die. But I can't. The darkness and silence go on forever. It is not a dream. I don't dream. Mary E. Pearson eye dark dream My timing is off. But I had to get it out. Some things you have to tell, no matter how stupid they may sound. Some things you can't save for later. There might not be a later. Mary E. Pearson stupid sound may ... Change doesn't happen overnight-it's molded by people who don't give up Mary E. Pearson dont-give-up giving-up life There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you. Mary E. Pearson different kind wings I decide that sometimes definitions are wrong. Even if they're written in a dictionary. Identities aren't always separate and distinct. Sometimes they ARE wrapped up with others. Sometimes, for a few minutes, maybe they can even be shared. And if I am ever fortunate enough to return to Mr. Bender's garden, I wonder if the birds will see that piece of him that is wrapped up in me. Mary E. Pearson garden identity bird Tell me who I am. (29) Mary E. Pearson who-i-am Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop. Mary E. Pearson left-hanging golden goes-on it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets Mary E. Pearson voice simple thinking There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless. Mary E. Pearson breathe eye looks He believes me. But that is nothing new. He always did because I was a rule follower. I played by the rules he understood. But there are new rules now, ones he doesn't know yet. He'll learn. Just as I'm learning. Mary E. Pearson understood followers believe Observing and understanding are two different things. Mary E. Pearson different understanding two Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out. Mary E. Pearson your-favorite color heart There are a lot of memories we imagine. We play them over and over in our minds, trying to orchestrate our movements and words to perfection. Or maybe it's just that I've lived inside of my head more than any other person in the history of the world. Maybe none of us can really predict how we will act at any give moment. Maybe we're all at the mercy of circumstance in spite of our well-laid plans. Mary E. Pearson play giving memories A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . . Mary E. Pearson walden-pond shade rain One small changed family doesn't calculate into a world that has been spinning for a billion years. But one small change makes the world spin differently in a billion ways for one family. Mary E. Pearson small-changes world years On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time. Mary E. Pearson artist order years Boredom reigns on all levels. The rain is a welcome change. I have seen the pond swell and the creek surge. I press my palm against the glass, imagining the drops on my skin, imagining where they started out, where they will go, feeling them like a river, rushing, combining, becoming something greater than how they started out. Mary E. Pearson glasses rain rivers I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead. Mary E. Pearson week perspective
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