Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands -- and then eat just one of the pieces.— Judith Viorst
The most staggering Judith Viorst quotes that are little-known but priceless
One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you fall in again.
Lust is what keeps you wanting to do it even when you have no desire to be with each other. Love is what makes you want to be with each other even when you have no desire to do it.
Close friends contribute to our personal growth.
They also contribute to our personal pleasure, making the music sound sweeter, the wine taste richer, the laughter ring louder because they are there.
Our daily existence requires both closeness and distance, the wholeness of self, the wholeness of intimacy.
I don't intend to stop showing a little cleavage. Nor do I intend to stop flashing a little thigh.
I had it together on Sunday. By Monday at noon it had cracked. On Tuesday debris Was descending on me. And by Wednesday no part was intact. On Thursday I picked up some pieces. On Friday I picked up the rest. By Saturday, late, It was almost set straight. And on Sunday the world was impressed With how well I had got it together.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
READ! Books can be as delicious as hot-fudge sundaes, as funny as clowns, as exciting as a baseball game that's tied in the 9th inning, and as beautiful as the best sunset you ever saw.
Love is much nicer to be in than an automobile accident, a tight girdle, a higher tax bracket or a holding pattern over Philadelphia.
as we acquire new aches and new pains, our health care is, of necessity, being supplied by internists, cardiologists, dermatologists, podiatrists, urologists, periodontists, gynecologists and psychiatrists, from all of whom we want a second opinion. We want a second opinion that says, don't worry, you are going to live forever.
But it's hard to be hip over thirty when everyone else is nineteen, when the last dance we learned was the Lindy, and the last we heard, girls who looked like Barbara Streisand were trying to do something about it.
Love is much nicer to be in than an automobile accident, a tight girdle, a higher tax bracket, or a holding pattern over Philadelphia.
Somewhere slightly before or after the close of our second decade, we reach a momentous milestone--childhood's end. We have left asafe place and can't go home again. We have moved into a world where life isn't fair, where life is rarely what it should be.
Love is the same as like except you feel sexier.
Recognize joy when it arrives in the plain brown wrappings of everyday life.
I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Superstition is foolish, childish, primitive and irrational -- but how much does it cost you to knock on wood?
We begin life with loss. We are cast from the womb without an apartment, a charge plate, a job or a car. We are sucking, sobbing, clinging, helpless babies.
For some it takes a lifetime to find true love, But for the lucky ones a lifetime is merely enough to share the love they've found.
Mid-grade readers don't have short attention spans, they just have low boredom tolerance.
If we are the younger, we may envy the older.
If we are the older, we may feel that the younger is always being indulged. In otherwords, no matter what position we hold in family order of birth, we can prove beyond a doubt that we're being gypped.
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.
No-fault guilt: This is when, instead of trying to figure out who's to blame, everyone pays.
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.
We will have to give up the hope that, if we try hard, we somehow will always do right by our children. The connection is imperfect. We will sometimes do wrong.
My mom says I'm her sugarplum. My mom says I'm her lamb. My mom says I'm completely perfect Just the way I am. My mom says I'm a super-special wonderful terrific little guy. My mom just had another baby. Why?
Brevity may be the soul of wit, but not when someone's saying "I love you.
Some days are like that. Even in Australia.
Late birds get worms while early birds get tired.
A normal adolescent is so restless and twitchy and awkward that he can mange to injure his knee--not playing soccer, not playing football--but by falling off his chair in the middle of French class.
It is true that the present is powerfully shaped by the past.
But it is also true that ... insight at any age keeps us from singing the same sad songs again.
Friends broaden our horizons. They serve as new models with whom we can identify. They allow us to be ourselves-and accept us that way. They enhance our self-esteem because they think we're okay, because we matter to them. And because they matter to us-for various reasons, at various levels of intensity-they enrich the quality of our emotional life.
I could be such a wonderful wife to another wife's husband.
Growing up means letting go of the dearest megalomaniacal dreams of our childhood. Growing up means knowing they can't be fulfilled. Growing up means gaining the wisdom and the skills to get what we want within the limitations imposed by reality - a reality which consists of diminished powers, restricted freedoms and, with the people we love, imperfect connections.
We grow because the clamorous, permanent presence of our children forces us to put their needs before ours. We grow because our love for our children urges us to change as nothing else in our lives has the power to do. We grow (if we're willing to grow, that is: not every parent is willing) because being a parent helps us stop being a child.
Suffering makes you deep. Travel makes you broad. In case I get my pick, I'd rather travel.
If ambitious fantasies make people blush, and sexual fantasies make people blush and feel guilty, fantasies of violence and death may make people blush and feel guilty-and frightened too.
Craving that old sweet oneness yet dreading engulfment, wishing to be our mother's and yet be our own, we stormily swing from mood to mood, advancing and retreating-the quintessential model of two-mindedness.
We have to divide mother love with our brothers and sisters.
Our parents can help us cope with the loss of our dream of absolute love. But they cannot make us believe that we haven't lost it.
Eventually we will learn that the loss of indivisible love is another of our necessary losses, that loving extends beyond the mother-child pair, that most of the love we receive in this world is love we will have to share--and that sharing begins at home, with our sibling rivals.
Being in love is better than being in jail, a dentist's chair, or a holding pattern over Philadelphia, but not if he doesn't love you back.
We cannot love others as others unless we possess suficient self-love, a love we learn from being loved in infancy.
When he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the street, I always hope he's dead.
Adolescence involves our nutty-desperate-ecstatic-rash psychological efforts to come to terms with new bodies and outrageous urges.
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save, He says he'd save me.
we love as soon as we learn to distinguish a separate 'you' and 'me.
' Love is our attempt to assuage the terror and isolation of that separateness.
We can glut ourselves with how-to-raise children information .
. . strive to become more mature and aware but none of this will spare us from the . . . inevitability that some of the time we are going to fail our children. Because there is a big gap between knowing and doing. Because mature, aware people are imperfect too. Or because some current event in our life may so absorb or depress us that when our children need us we cannot come through.
the lives we lead are determined, for better and worse, by our loss experiences.
[On writing her first poem at age eight:] An ode to my dead mother and father, who were both alive and pretty pissed off.