A hobby a day keeps the doldrums away.— Phyllis Mcginley
The most astounding Phyllis Mcginley quotes that are life-changing and eye-opening
Of one thing I am certain, the body is not the measure of healing, peace is the measure.
Sometimes I have a notion that what might improve the situation is to have women take over the occupations of government and trade and to give men their freedom.
Sin has always been an ugly word, but it has been made so in a new sense over the last half-century. It has been made not only ugly but pass?. People are no longer sinful, they are only immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.
Those wearing Tolerance for a label call other views intolerable.
The wonderful thing about saints is that they were human.
They lost their tempers, got hungry, scolded God, were egotistical or impatient in their turns, made mistakes and regretted them. Still they went on doggedly blundering toward heaven.
Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart.
A mother's hardest to forgive. Life is the fruit she longs to hand you Ripe on a plate. And while you live, Relentlessly she understands you.
To be a housewife is a difficult, a wrenching, sometimes an ungrateful job if it is looked on only as a job. Regarded as a profession, it is the noblest as it is the most ancient of the catalogue. Let none persuade us differently or the world is lost indeed.
Frigidity is largely nonsense. It is this generation's catchword, one only vaguely understood and constantly misused. Frigid women are few. There is a host of diffident and slow-ripening ones.
Borrow my umbrellas, my clothes, my money, and I will likely not think of them again. But borrow my books and I will be on your track like a bloodhound until they are returned.
In Australia, not reading poetry is the national pastime.
Of course we women gossip on occasion.
But our appetite for it is not as avid as a man s. It is in the boys gyms, the college fraternity houses, the club locker rooms, the paneled offices of business that gossip reaches its luxuriant flower.
Stir the eggnog, lift the toddy, Happy New Year everybody.
This is the gist of what I know: Give advice and buy a foe.
Please to put a nickel, please to put a dime. How petitions trickle in at Christmas time!
In spring when maple buds are red, We turn the clock an hour ahead;
Which means, each April that arrives, We lose an hour out of our lives. Who cares? When autumn birds in flocks Fly southward, back we turn the clocks, And so regain a lovely thing That missing hour we lost in spring.
The thing to remember about fathers is, they're men.
A girl has to keep it in mind: They are dragon-seekers, bent on improbable rescues. Scratch any father, you find someone chock-full of qualms and romantic terrors, believing change is a threat -- like your first shoes with heels on, like your first bicycle I it took such months to get.
God know that a mother need fortitude and courage and tolerance and flexibility and patience and firmness and nearly every other brave aspect of the human soul.
Getting along with men isn't what's truly important.
The vital knowledge is how to get along with a man, one man.
Compromise, if not the spice of life, is its solidity.
It is what makes nations great and marriages happy
Marriage was all a woman's idea and for man's acceptance of the pretty yoke, it becomes us to be grateful.
When blithe to argument I come, Though armed with facts, and merry, May Providence protect me from The fool as adversary, Whose mind to him a kingdom is Where reason lacks dominion, Who calls conviction prejudice And prejudice opinion.
Gossip isn't scandal and it's not merely malicious.
It's chatter about the human race by lovers of the same. Gossip is the tool of the poet, the shop-talk of the scientist, and the consolation of the housewife, wit, tycoon and intellectual. It begins in the nursery and ends when speech is past.
A lady is smarter than a gentleman, maybe, she can sew a fine seam, she can have a baby, she can use her intuition instead of her brain, but she can't fold a paper in a crowded train.
Gossip isn't scandal and it's not merely malicious.
It's chatter about the human race by lovers of the same.
Scratch any father, you find / Someone chock-full of qualms and romantic terrors, / Believing change is a threat.
For the hearts of nurses are solid gold, / But their heels are flat and their hands are cold, / And their voices lilt with a lilt that's falser / Than the smile of an exhibition waltzer. / Yes, nurses can cure you, nurses restore you, / But nurses are bound that they do things for you.
Nothing fails like success; nothing is so defeated as yesterday's triumphant Cause.
Sisters are always drying their hair.
Locked into rooms, alone, they pose at the mirror, shoulders bare, trying this way and that their hair, or fly importunate down the stair to answer the telephone.
I sing Connecticut, her charms / Of rivers, orchards, blossoming ridges.
/ I sing her gardens, fences, farms, / Spiders and midges.
Aunts are discreet, a little shy / By instinct. They forbear to pry.
People are no longer sinful, they are only immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.
In a successful marriage, there is no such thing as one's way.
There is only the way of both, only the bumpy, dusty, difficult, but always mutual path.
Of the small gifts of heaven, / It seems to me a more than equal share / At birth was given / To girls with curly hair.
How happy is the Optimist / To whom life shows its sunny side / His horse may lose, his ship may list, / But he always sees the funny side.
A bookworm in bed with a new novel and a good reading lamp is as much prepared for pleasure as a pretty girl at a college dance.
Our bodies are shaped to bear children, and our lives are a working out of the processes of creation. All our ambitions and intelligence are beside that great elemental point.
Women are not men's equals in anything except responsibility.
We are not their inferiors, either, or even their superiors. We are quite simply different races.
Oh, princes thrive on caviar, the poor on whey and curds, / And politicians, I infer, must eat their windy words. / It's crusts that feed the virtuous, it's cake that comforts sinners, / But writers live on bread and praise at Literary Dinners.
Rain is my lover, my apple strudel. / It haunts my heels like a pedigreed poodle. / Beyond the seas or across the nation, / It follows me faithful on every vacation.
Men can't be trusted with pruning shears any more than they can be trusted with the grocery money in a delicatessen . . . They are like boys with new pocket knives who will not stop whittling.
Behind every myth lies a truth; beyond every legend is reality, as radiant (sometimes as chilling) as the story itself.
The knowingness of little girls hidden underneath their curls.
Ladies with curly hair / Have time to spare.
There are books that one needs maturity to enjoy just as there are books an adult can come on too late to savor.
The Enemy, who wears her mother's usual face and confidential tone, has access;
doubtless stares into her writing case and listens on the phone.
Not reading poetry amounts to a national pastime here.
A lover would find life less broken apart after a misguided love affair if they could feel that they had been sinful rather than foolish.