Diva Morning Quotes

You have to manifest it for yourself,” the blond diva says wisely. “I spent years believing against all odds that it would happen for me. I still wake up every morning knowing even better things will happen. If you believe it against all odds, it comes true. It’s the power of the universe.” Even though Polly, too, left religion behind, she still has her own system of faith that she carried with her. Can anyone survive without faith, however it is labeled? No matter how you live your life, it seems, you need faith to get by, to get ahead.

Miss Mackintosh waved her arms wildly. "Oh, please stop, and let me guess," she cried. "I shall go crazy with joy if I'm right. It was an old Peerage, and so she found that Lady Deal was Helena Herman--" "Whom she had seen ten years ago at a music hall as a male impersonator," cried Diva. "And didn't want to know her," interrupted Miss Mackintosh. "Yes, that's it, but that is not all. I hope you won't mind, but it's too rich. She saw you this morning coming out of your house in your bath-chair, and was quite sure that you were that Lady Deal." The three ladies rocked with laughter. Sometimes one recovered, and sometimes two, but they were re-infected by the third, and so they went on, solo and chorus, and duet and chorus, till exhaustion set in. "But there's still a mystery," said Diva at length, wiping her eyes. "Why did the Peerage say that Lady Deal was Helena Herman?" "Oh, that's the last Lady Deal," said Miss Mackintosh. "Helena Herman's Lord Deal died without children and Florence's Lord Deal, my Lady Deal, succeeded. Cousins." "If that isn't a lesson for Elizabeth Mapp," said Diva. "Better go to the expense of a new Peerage than make such a muddle. But what a long call we've made. We must go.

Luck ever attends the bold and constructive thinker: the apple, for instance, fell from the tree precisely when Newton's mind was groping after the law of gravity, and as Diva stepped into her grocer's to begin her morning's shopping (for she had been occupied with roses ever since breakfast) the attendant was at the telephone at the back of the shop. He spoke in a lucid telephone-voice. "We've only two of the big tins of corned beef," he said; and there was a pause, during which, to a psychic, Diva's ears might have seemed to grow as pointed with attention as a satyr's. But she could only hear little hollow quacks from the other end. "Tongue as well. Very good. I'll send them up at once," he added, and came forward into the shop. "Good morning," said Diva. Her voice was tremulous with anxiety and investigation. "Got any big tins of corned beef? The ones that contain six pounds." "Very sorry, ma'am. We've only got two, and they've just been ordered." "A small pot of ginger then, please," said Diva recklessly. "Will you send it round immediately?" "Yes, ma'am. The boy's just going out." That was luck. Diva hurried into the street, and was absorbed by the headlines of the news outside the stationer's. This was a favourite place for observation, for you appeared to be quite taken up by the topics of the day, and kept an oblique eye on the true object of your scrutiny...

Does this mean I think you should stubbornly refuse to give any guy a chance who doesn’t look like Channing Tatum? Or that you should dismiss every guy who’s a little shorter than you had hoped or blonder than you had visualized or older or younger than you had planned? No. There certainly should and needs to be flexibility and openness to the idea that the person you choose to spend your life with might not fit some preconceived mold or check every single box you have for him. There does have to be a willingness to compromise when it comes to the fine print. But the big things—Is he loyal and honest and kind? Does he have goals and dreams and ambition? Does he do what he says he’ll do and follow through and keep commitments and show up for you? and so on and so forth—those are areas in which you have a right to stand tall and firm on your standards and not back down. Because here’s the thing: yes, singleness can be a little lonely. It can be a little sad. It can be difficult and awkward, and let’s be real: it just plain sucks at times. But nothing . . . and I mean nothing . . . is lonelier or sadder or more challenging than waking up one morning to find yourself trapped in a relationship with someone who is wrong for you, simply because you compromised your standards to avoid winding up alone. (Or because you chose him simply because he has hair.) It’s time to tell the world that, yes, we are single; yes, we have standards; and, no . . . we won’t apologize for it. Because high standards don’t signify a diva. They signify a woman who knows what she’s worth.