Best 48 quotes of Rebecca Wells on MyQuotes

As a writer, I am not goddess of the universes I create. I am at most a stage manager of the plentiful gifts which tumble out of the horn of plenty, which is to say there is a source so sweet and forgiving and generous that I pray every day to let that source be my guide.

A scent that disturbs me and delights me. It smells like ripe pears, vetiver, a bit of violet and something else- something spicy almost biting and exotic.

At the beauty of what she had stumbled onto, at the fear that something terrible would happen because she was not vigilant enough. She cried at the fear of something so good that she would not be brave enough to bear it.

But who has time to write memoirs? I’m still living my memoirs.

Can you reclaim that free-girl smile, or is it like virginity- once you loose it, that's it?

Flowers heal me. Tulips make me happy. I keep myself surrounded by them as soon as they start coming to the island from Canada, and after that when they come from the fields in La Connor, not far from where I live.

Forget love. Try good manners.

Friends are supposed to act like harbor boats-let you know if you're off course. But it ain't always possible.

Good enough is good enough. Perfect will make you a big fat mess every time.

How wide and sweet and wild motherhood and sisterhood can be.

I am the kind of woman who loves hurricanes. They put me in a party mood. Make me want to eat oysters on the half shell, and act slutty.

I believe that illness has led me to a life of gratitude, so I consider Lyme disease at this point in my life to be a blessing in disguise.

I believe that we are given strength and help from a power much larger than ourselves. I believe if I humble myself that this power will come through me, and help me create work that is bigger than I would have ever been able to have done alone.

I come to writing from hearing great stories as a child in Louisiana, where the mark of a person was his or her ability to be a raconteur. I also come to writing as a professional actress whose body has been trained to listen and smell and inhabit characters without judgment.

I have been missing the point. The point is not knowing another person, or learning to love another person. The point is simply this: how tender can we bear to be? What good manners can we show as we welcome ourselves and others into our hearts?

I never claimed to be a low-maintenance gal, but when I'm writing, it's particularly challenging. I lose things constantly: my watch, my glasses, my papers, my mind.

I now know that things I always thought I could depend on can crash in an instant. Because of the love that I have been shown, I now know what it means to be 'beloved.' I now know that no breath is to be taken for granted.

I swear I could write a book about all the things no one has ever thanked me for.

I think of myself as Rebecca Wells from Lodi Plantation, in Central Louisiana, a girl who was lucky enough to be born into a family that encouraged creativity and didn't call me lazy or nuts when I dressed up in my mother's peignoirs and played the piano, having painted a small sign decorated in glitter that read 'The Piano Fairy Girl.

It's life. You don't figure it out. You just climb up on the beast and ride.

I value humor, kindness, and the ability to tell a good story far more than money, status, or the kind of car someone drives.

Life is short but it is wide. This too shall pass.

Maybe people are more like the earth than we know. Maybe they have fault lines that sooner or later are going to split open under pressure.

Sometimes lost treasures can be reclaimed.

Sometimes you just have to reach out and grab what you want, even when they tell you not to. This is something that I've struggled with my whole life long.

The love we most cherish will, of necessity, bring us pain. Because that love is like the setting of a body with broken bones. But I want to stage the setting. I want to direct all scenes.

the process of a book's coming to life is not fully complete until your imagination meets mine on the page. The words evoke pictures and something altogether new is created, something different from the limits of my own skills and imagination. Something that is a marriage between your heart, mind, and body - and mine.

These are all I have. I do not have the wide, bright beacon of some solid old lighthouse, guiding ships safely home, past the jaggedrocks. I only have these little glimmers that flicker and then go out.

we have to suffer mosquitoes the size of blackbirds.

When I'm reading, wherever I am, I'm always somewhere else.

You know how some people, when they're together, they somehow make you feel more hopeful? Make you feel like the world is not the insane place it really is?

Because I miss them. Because I need them. Because I love them.

Caro remembered how it was to lie so unself-consciously next to her best friends. Her aging body recalled the singular comfort of just being in bed next to Vivi's and Teensy's and Necie's bodies. It had been like no comfort she had ever taken from a man, not from her husband, or from the two lovers she'd had during her marriage. As she thought of her friends, she wished they could sprawl like that once more, their old-lady bodies touching, their varicosed legs thrown over one another's, toes touching, their scents mingling. The tribe, together again.

...Don't ever worry bout bein holy, babychild. Just keep your eyes wide open except when you sleep. Then let the Lord's mighty vision see you through the night.

Friends are supposed to act like harbor boats—let you know if you’re off course. But it ain’t always possible…

Good Lord didn't mean for us to hate ourself. He made us to love ourself like He do, with wide open arms.

How many years went by unnoticed, unembraced?

I live in an ocean of smell…

Liminal moments. Those moments apart from time when you are gripped. Taken. When you are so fully absorbed in what you are doing that time ceases to exist. Those early morning birthday moments were liminal, Sidda thought. Momma knew how to embrace liminality inspite of (or maybe because of) her emotional acrobatics. Momma taught me rapture.

Looking up at her, Teensy said, "Any baggage you have, Bébé, ceased to be only yours the minute that sperm hit that egg.

She saw night lights in the rooms of the babies who dreamed soft seersucker dreams, drugged happy with the heat, their pink baby bodies curled against worn out cotton, not fearing Hitler yet, their strong, tiny hearts beating in unison with the trees and the creeks and the bayou

She used to say she could taste sleep and that it was as delicious as a BLT on fresh French bread.

Sometimes I wonder if any of us are cut out for the lives we lead.

The point is not knowing another person, or learning to love another person. The point is simply this: how tender can we bear to be? What good manners can we show as we welcome ourselves and others in our hearts?

The very air they breathed was almost a juice.

What does my smile look like now? Vivi wondered. Can you reclaim that free-girl smile, or is it like virginity- once you loose it, that's it?

When the Deep Purple falls, Over sleepy garden walls, And the stars begin to flicker in the sky, Thru the mist of a memory You wander back to me, Breathing my name with a sigh. In the still of the night, Once again I hold you tight, Tho' you're gone, your love lives on When moonlight beams. And as long as my heart will beat Lover, we'll always meet Here in my Deep Purple dreams.

...you do not have too many boogeymen for me. You have just the right number.