Milk And Honey Quotes

Loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself.

i am a museum full of art but you had your eyes shut

do not look for healing at the feet of those who broke you

how you love yourself is how you teach others to love you

if you were born with the weakness to fall you were born with the strength to rise

how is it so easy for you to be kind to people he asked milk and honey dripped from my lips as i answered cause people have not been kind to me

The kindest words my father said to me Women like you drown oceans.

i am water soft enough to offer life tough enough to drown it away

people go but how they left always stays

stay strong through your pain grow flowers from it you have helped me grow flowers out of mine so bloom beautifully dangerously loudly bloom softly however you need just bloom

he placed his hands on my mind before reaching for my waist my hips or my lips he didn't call me beautiful first he called me exquisite - how he touches me

for you to see beauty here does not mean there is beauty in me it means there is beauty rooted so deep within you you can't help but see it everywhere

you tell me to quiet down cause my opinions make me less beautiful but i was not made with a fire in my belly so i could be put out i was not made with a lightness on my tongue so i could be easy to swallow i was made heavy half blade and half silk difficult to forget and not easy for the mind to follow

The thing about writing is I can't tell if it's healing or destroying.

fall in love with your solitude

the world gives you so much pain and here you are making gold out of it - there is nothing purer than that

i am hopelessly a lover and a dreamer and that will be the death of me

your art is not about how many people like your work your art is about if your heart likes your work if your soul likes your work it's about how honest you are with yourself and you must never trade honesty for relatability

i have what i have and i am happy i’ve lost what i’ve lost and i am still happy - outlook

when you are broken and he has left you do not question whether you were enough the problem was you were so enough he was not able to carry it

I’m just keeping the faith. I continue to eat well, take turmeric, cayenne pepper, milk and honey, and exercise my eye muscles frequently.

most importantly love like it's the only thing you know how at the end of the day all this means nothing this page where you're sitting your degree your job the money nothing even matters except love and human connection who you loved and how deeply you loved them how you touched the people around you and how much you gave them

you cannot leave and have me too i cannot exist in two places at once -when you ask if we can still be friends

my heart woke me crying last night how can i help i begged my heart said write the book

i don’t know what living a balanced life feels like when i am sad i don’t cry i pour when i am happy i don’t smile i glow when i am angry i don’t yell i burn the good thing about feeling in extremes is when i love i give them wings but perhaps that isn't such a good thing cause they always tend to leave and you should see me when my heart is broken i don't grieve i shatter

the very thought of you has my legs spread apart like an easel with a canvas begging for art

You risked your life, but what else have you ever risked? Have you risked disapproval? Have you ever risked economic security? Have you ever risked a belief? I see nothing particularly courageous about risking one's life. So you lose it, you go to your hero's heaven and everything is milk and honey 'til the end of time. Right? You get your reward and suffer no earthly consequences. That's not courage. Real courage is risking something that might force you to rethink your thoughts and suffer change and stretch consciousness. Real courage is risking one's clichés.

it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations

i am not a hotel room. i am home i am not the whiskey you want i am the water you need don't come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me

you look at me and cry everything hurts i hold you and whisper but everything can heal

you must want to spend the rest of your life with yourself first

nothing is safer than the sound of you reading out loud to me -the perfect date

that is the thing about selfish people. they gamble entire beings. entire souls to please their own.

love will come and when love comes love will hold you love will call your name and you will melt sometimes though love will hurt you but love will never mean to love will play no games cause love knows life has been hard enough already

what terrifies me most is how we foam at the mouth with envy when others succeed but sigh in relief when they are failing our struggle to celebrate each other is what's proven most difficult in being human

apparently it is ungraceful of me to mention my period in public cause the actual biology of my body is too real it is okay to sell what's between a woman's legs more than it is okay to mention its inner workings the recreational use of this body is seen as beautiful while its nature is seen as ugly

what am i to you he asks i put my hands in his lap and whisper you are every hope i've ever had in human form

i struggle so deeply to understand how someone can pour their entire soul blood and energy into someone without wanting anything in return -i will have to wait till i'm a mother

do not bother holding onto that thing that does not want you -you cannot make it stay

your body is a museum of natural disasters can you grasp how stunning that is

you are the faint line between faith and blindly waiting - letter to my future lover

you were a dragon long before he came around and said you could fly you will remain a dragon long after he's left

trying to convince myself i am allowed to take up space is like writing with my left hand when i was born to use my right -the idea shrinking is hereditary

there is a difference between someone telling you they love you and them actually loving you

no it won't be love at first sight when we meet it'll be love at first remembrance cause i've seen you in my mother's eyes when she tells me to marry the type of man i'd want to raise my son to be like

people say things meant to rip you in half but you hold the power to not turn their words into a knife and cut yourself

don’t mistake salt for sugar if he wants to be with you he will it’s that simple

I’d be lying if I said you make me speechless the truth is you make my tongue so weak it forgets what language to speak in.

sometimes the apology never comes when it is wanted and when it comes it is neither wanted nor needed -you are too late

i was music but you had your ears cut off

how is it so easy for you to be kind to people he askedmilk and honey dripped from my lips as i answered cause people have not been kind to me

you have sadness living in places sadness shouldn’t live

Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity.

If I knew what safety looked like, I would have spent less time falling into arms that were not

i thank the universe for taking everything it has taken and giving to me everything it is giving -balance

isn’t it such a tragic thing. when you can see it so clearly but the other person doesn’t.

the thing about having an alcoholic parent is an alcoholic parent does not exist simply an alcoholic who could not stay sober long enough to raise their kids

the next time you have your coffee black you'll taste the bitter state he left you in it will make you weep but you'll never stop drinking you'd rather have the darkest parts of him than have nothing

To be soft is to be powerful

my favorite thing about you is your smell you smell like earth herbs gardens a little more human than the rest of us

you’ve touched me without even touching me.

the next time he points out the hair on your legs is growing back remind that boy your body is not his home he is a guest warn him to never outstep his welcome again

i didn't know why i split myself open for other knowing sewing myself up hurts this much afterward

the way they leave tells you everything

you are in the habit of co-depending on people to make up for what you think you lack who tricked you into believing another person was meant to complete you when the most they can do is complement

If the world were a paradise of luxury and ease, a land flowing with milk and honey, where every Jack obtained his Jill at once and without any difficulty, men would either die of boredom or hang themselves; or there would be wars, massacres, and murders; so that in the end mankind would inflict more suffering on itself than it has now to accept at the hands of Nature.

losing you was the becoming of myself

we all move forward when we recognize how resilient and striking the women around us are

we are all born/ so beautiful/ the greatest tragedy is/ being convinced we are not

One must not put trust in novelists, Beth; they create worlds to fit their own needs and drive their characters mad in doing it.

a daughter should not have to beg her father for a relationship

Your lips, beloved, are like a honeycomb: honey and milk are under the tongue. And the smell of your clothes is like the smell of my home.

give to those who have nothing to give to you -

i will not have you build me into your life when what i want is to build a life with you - the difference

what i miss most is how you loved me. but what i didn't know was how you loved me had so much to do with the person i was. it was a reflection of everything i gave you. coming back to me. how did i not see that. how. did i sit here soaking in the idea that no one else would love me that way. when it was i that taught you. when it was i that showed you how to fill. the way i needed to be filled. how cruel i was to myself. giving you credit for my warmth simply because you had felt it. thinking it was you who gave me strength. wit. beauty. simply because you recognized it. as if i was already not these things before i met you. as if i did not remain all these things after you left.

i am sending my love to your eyes. may they always see goodness in people. and may you always practice kindness. may we see each other as one. may we be nothing short of in love with everything the universe has to offer. and may we always stay grounded. rooted. our feet planted firmly onto the earth.

the idea that we are so capable of love but still choose to be toxic

the thing worth holding on to would not have let go

i don't blame you for not knowing how to remain soft with me. sometimes i stay up thinking of all the places you are hurting which you'll never care to mention. i come from the same aching blood. from the same bone so desperate for attention i collapse in on myself. i am your daughter. i know the small talk is the only way you know how to tell me you love me. cause it is the only way i know how to tell you.

you look just like your mother i guess i do carry her tenderness well you both have the same eyes cause we are both exhausted and the hands we share the same wilting fingers but that rage your mother doesn't wear that rage you're right this rage is the one thing i get from my father

you treat them like they have a heart like yours but not everyone can be as soft and as tender you don't see the person they are you see the person they have the potential to be you give and give till they pull everything out of you and leave you empty.

if he can't help but degrade other women when they're not looking if toxicity is central to his language he could hold you in his lap and be soft honey that man could feed you sugar and douse you in rose water but that still could not make him sweet -if you want to know what the type of man he is

today, I added a new concoction to my recuperative regime; I began drinking honey and milk. Taken together, they form a powerful antioxidant that has been used by many cultures for centuries. As the saying goes—“ it couldn’t hurt.

if you are not enough for yourself you will never be enough for someone else

we began with honesty let us end in it too - us

sex takes the consent of two if one person is lying there not doing anything cause they are not ready or not in the mood or simply don't want to yet the other is having sex with their body it's not love it is rape

This is what love does and continues to do. It tastes like honey to adults and milk to children.

bloom beautifully dangerously loudly bloom softly however you need just bloom

the letting go has become the forgetting which is the most pleasant and saddest thing to have happened

I know I should crumble for better reasons but have you seen that boy he brings the sun to its knees every night.

you tell me i am not like most girls and learn to kiss me with your eyes closed something about the phrase - something about how i have to be unlike the women i call sisters in order to be wanted makes me want to spit your tongue out like i am supposed to be proud you picked me as if i should be relieved you think i am better than them

Like your mouth has the gift of reading and I'm your favorite book. Find your favorite page in the soft spot between my legs and read it carefully. Fluently. Vividly. Don't you dare leave a single word untouched. And I swear my ending will be so good.

that is the thing about selfish people. they gamble entire beings. entire souls to please their own. one second they are holding you like the world in their lap and the next they have belittled you to a mere picture. a moment. something of the past. one second. they swallow you up and whisper they want to spend the rest of their life with you. but the moment they sense fear. they are already halfway out the door. without having the nerve to let you go with grace. as if the human heart means that little to them. and after all this. after all of the taking. the nerve. isn't it sad and funny how people have more guts these days to undress you with their fingers than they do pick up the phone and call. apologize. for the loss. and this is how you lose her. - selfish

did you think i was a city big enough for a weekend getaway i am the town surrounding it the one you've never heard of but always pass through there are no neon lights here no skyscapers or statues but there is thunder for i make bridges tremble i am not street meat i am homemade jam thick enough to cut the sweetest thing you lips will touch i am not police sirens i am the crackle of a fireplace i'd burn you and you still couldn't take your eyes off of me cause i'd look so beautiful doing it you'd blush i am not a hotel room i am home i am not the whiskey you want i am the water you need don't come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me

I'm so fucking tired of black women always being described by their skin tones! Honey-colored this! Dark-chocolate that! My paternal grandmother was mocha-tinged, café-au-lait, graham-fucking-cracker brown! How come they never describe the white characters in relation to foodstuffs and hot liquids? Why aren't there any yogurt-colored, egg-shell-toned, string-cheese-skinned, low-fat-milk white protagonists in these racist, no-third-act-having books? That's why black literature sucks!

you said. if it is meant to be. fate will bring us back together. for a second i wonder if you are really that naive. if you really believe fate works like that. as if it lives in the sky staring down at us. as if it has five fingers and spends its time placing us like pieces of chess. as if it is not the choices we make. who taught you that. tell me. who convinced you. you’ve been given a heart and a mind that isn’t yours to use. that your actions do not define what will become of you. i want to scream and shout it’s us you fool. we’re the only ones that can bring us back together. but instead i sit quietly. smiling softly through quivering lips thinking. isn’t it such a tragic thing. when you can see it so clearly but the other person doesn’t.

i will tell you about selfish people. even when they know they will hurt you they walk into your life to taste you because you are the type of being they don’t want to miss out on. you are too much shine to not be felt. so when they have gotten a good look at everything you have to offer. when they have taken your skin your hair and your secrets with them. when they realize how real this is. how much of a storm you are and it hits them. that is when the cowardice sets in. that is when the person you thought they were is replaced by the sad reality of what they are. that is when they lose every fighting bone in their body and leave after saying you will find better than me. you will stand there naked with half of them still hidden somewhere inside you and sob. asking them why they did it. why they forced you to love them when they had no intention of loving you back and they’ll say something along the lines of i just had to try. i had to give it a chance. it was you after all. but that isn’t romantic. it isn’t sweet. the idea that they were so engulfed by your existence they had to risk breaking it for the sake of knowing they weren’t the one missing out. your existence meant that little next to their curiosity of you.

The Kitchen           Half a papaya and a palmful of sesame oil; lately, your husband’s mind has been elsewhere.   Honeyed dates, goat’s milk; you want to quiet the bloating of salt.   Coconut and ghee butter; he kisses the back of your neck at the stove.   Cayenne and roasted pine nuts; you offer him the hollow of your throat.   Saffron and rosemary; you don’t ask him her name.   Vine leaves and olives; you let him lift you by the waist.   Cinnamon and tamarind; lay you down on the kitchen counter.   Almonds soaked in rose water; your husband is hungry.   Sweet mangoes and sugared lemon; he had forgotten the way you taste. Sour dough and cumin; but she cannot make him eat, like you.

How do I look to him?" she asked herself. She got up and brought a long mirror towards the window. She stood it on the floor against a chair. Then she sat down in front of it on the rug and, facing it, slowly opened her legs. The sight was enchanting. The skin was flawless, the vulva, roseate and full. She thought it was like the gum plant leaf with its secret milk that the pressure of the finger could bring out, the odorous moisture that came like the moisture of the sea shells. So was Venus born of the sea with this little kernel of salty honey in her, which only caresses could bring out of the hidden recesses of her body.

This scent had a freshness, but not the freshness of limes or pomegranates, not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles, not that of a May rain or a frosty wind or of well water... and at the same time it had warmth, but not as bergamot, cypress, or musk has, or jasmine or daffodils, not as rosewood has or iris... This scent was a blend of both, of evanescence and substance, not a blend, but a unity, although slight and frail as well, and yet solid and sustaining, like a piece of thin, shimmering silk... and yet again not like silk, but like pastry soaked in honey-sweet milk - and try as he would he couldn't fit those two together: milk and silk! This scent was inconceivable, indescribable, could not be categorized in any way - it really ought not to exist at all. And yet there it was as plain and splendid as day.