Judith Viorst
Judith Viorst
Judith Viorstis an American writer, newspaper journalist, and psychoanalysis researcher. She is perhaps best known for her children's literature, such as The Tenth Good Thing About Barneyand the Alexander series of short picture books, which includes Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, which has sold over two million copies...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth3 February 1931
CityNewark, NJ
CountryUnited States of America
It's true love because if he said quit drinking martinis but I kept on drinking them and the next morning I couldn't get out of bed, he wouldn't tell me he told me.
Superstition is foolish, childish, primitive and irrational -- but how much does it cost you to knock on wood?
Strength is the ability to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands - and then eat just one of those pieces.
One advantage of marriage, it seems to me, is that when you fall out of love with him, or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you maybe fall in again.
You end up as you deserve. In old age you must put up with the face, the friends, the health, and the children you have earned.
Our daily existence requires both closeness and distance, the wholeness of self, the wholeness of intimacy.
There is a time to separate from our mother. But unless we are ready to separate-unless we are ready to leave her and be left-anything is better than separation.
Sun lighting a child's hair. A friend's embrace. Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place. The pleasures of an ordinary life.
We cannot love others as others unless we possess suficient self-love, a love we learn from being loved in infancy.
Because we believe ourselves to be better parents than our parents, we expect to produce better children than they produced.
I could be such a wonderful wife to another wife's husband.
Brevity may be the soul of wit, but not when someone's saying "I love you.
many of us are done with adolescence before we are done with adolescent love.
[On writing her first poem at age eight:] An ode to my dead mother and father, who were both alive and pretty pissed off.