Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Anne Spencer Lindberghwas an American author, aviator, and the wife of aviator Charles Lindbergh. She was an acclaimed author whose books and articles spanned the genres of poetry to non-fiction, touching upon topics as diverse as youth and age; love and marriage; peace, solitude and contentment, as well as the role of women in the 20th century. Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea is a popular inspirational book, reflecting on the lives of American women...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth22 June 1906
CountryUnited States of America
People don't want to be understood - I mean not completely. It's too destructive. Then they haven't anything left. They don't want complete sympathy or complete understanding. They want to be treated carelessly and taken for granted lots of times.
I do not like talking casually to people - it does not interest me - and most of them are unwilling to talk at all seriously.
Too many people, too many demands, too much to do; competent, busy, hurrying people - It just isn't living at all.
people talk about 'sex' as though it hopped about by itself, like a frog!
People talk about love as though it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers. And a lot of people give love like that -- just dump it down on top of you, a useless strong-scented burden.
If one talks to more than four people, it is an audience; and one cannot really think or exchange thoughts with an audience.
Why is it that you can sometimes feel the reality of people more keenly through a letter than face to face?
I had the feeling . . . that my experience was very different from other people’s. (Are we all under this illusion?)
the nice thing about really intelligent people is that when you talk with them they make you feel intelligent too ...
People talk about love as if it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers.
My Life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds.
There are no signposts in the sky to show a man has passed that way before. There are no channels marked. The flier breaks each second into new uncharted seas.
There is no harvest for the heart alone. The seed of love must be eternally re-sown.
Can one make the future a substitute for the present? And what guarantee have we that the future will be any better if we neglect the present?