Best 18 quotes of Beth Kephart on MyQuotes

Forgiveness, which is the place that every story turns, the chance we give each other.

Have you ever watched a leaf leave a tree? It falls upward first, and then it drifts toward the ground, just as I find myself drifting towards you.

Here’s another change I’ve noticed: The dark is more than the sun dropping off, more than the moon and the stars. It’s what you can’t see that you hope you will see, what hasn’t been that might be.

How do you know when an apology is true—when it means something, or can change something, or will last outside the moment?

I believe friends enclose us, like a pair of parentheses. Each one knows us differently, each sustains us in a different way.

Imagine music gushing down the hollow places in your bones, and making you liquid, and giving you speed. Imagine music turning your body into a song.

Nature is not the number-one mystery, I’ve learned. It’s the heart that takes top honors.

Nothing erodes [a mother's love]. It is not sand on a beach. It is the nuclear heart of things-hard as the rock of this earth.

Step out from behind the words. When you're a writer you can imagine that the words speak for you and are you, but they're not. You are this living breathing bad hair day kind of person.

Throughout our lives friends enclose us like pairs of parentheses. They shift our boundaries; crater our terrain. They fume through the cracks of our tentative houses and parts of them always remain. Friendship asks the truth and wants the truth, hollows and fills, ages with us, and we through it. It cradles us like family. It is ecology and mystery and language - all three. Our grown-up friendships - especially the really meaningful ones- model for our children what we want them to have throughout their lives.

We grow too old to lose old friends.

Beauty is the worst kind of lie.

Fox-Trot By the stream the fox and she-fox stood Nose to nose beneath the stars Dancing the music of the woods. The deer rapped a beat with their hooves, The ravens sang from raven hearts As by the stream the fox and she-fox stood. The great owl called as a great owl would, The squirrels all shimmied in the dark, Dancing the music of the woods. Then from the north a fierce wind blew And broke the starry dance apart By the stream where the fox and she-fox stood.

His client needs him, he says. Needs him? But isn’t he needed at home?

I’d thought he was stars and then I’d thought he was a fox. I had thought I’d been alone, but I hadn’t.

The night before, I'd gone overboard with my Lila poems, and maybe it's true that I was hoping that in them he'd see the genius of me, the beauty of my words in his hands.

When I was a boy, that was all I wanted—to grow a pair of wings and get up into the sky. I had a basement full of failed wing projects. Boards and capes and motors, even a pile of found feathers I once tried to glue together with a bottle of Elmer’s; you should have seen your grandmother’s face. But I never got any higher than the backyard fence I’d launch from. I never got inside a cloud. Your raven did.

You aren't happy," Estela says. "I can't be happy," I say. "Look at me, Kenzie." "I'm looking at you, Estela." "Do you know your own heart?" "I don't know anything." "Go," she says, "and think. And don't come back until you know.