#widow

Can anyone understand how it is to have lived in the White House and then, suddenly, to be living alone as the President's widow? ↗

— Jackie Kennedy

#anyone #house #how #lived #living

I got so lucky on my 'Red Widow' cast. It was just the universe looking out for me that I got those actors. It's a big ensemble cast, a very international cast. I don't know how that happened. ↗

— Melissa Rosenberg

#cast #ensemble #got #happened #how

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence. ↗

— Joseph Roux

#call #every #father #friend #here

When I did that interview with Hepburn, the only ground rule was, you did not discuss Spencer Tracy. Spencer Tracy's widow is still alive, and she respected that. ↗

— Morley Safer

#did #discuss #ground #hepburn #i

What kind of wife would I be if I left your father simply because he was dead? ↗

— Jess Walter

#death-of-a-loved-one #widowhood #beauty

Widow. The word consumes itself. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#itself #widow #word

A hundred years or more, she's bent her crown in storm, in sun, in moonsplashed midnight breeze. surviving all the random vagaries of this harsh world. A dense - twigged veil drifts down from crown along her trunk - mourning slow wood that rustles tattered, in a hint of wind this January dusk, cloudy, purpling the ground with sudden shadows. How she broods - you speculate - on dark surprise and loss, alone these many years, despondent, bent, her bolt-cracked mate transformed to splinters, moss. Though not alone, you feel the sadness of a twilight breeze. There's never enough love; the widow nods to you. Her branches moan. ↗

— Lauren Lipton

#tree #widow #woods #love

So what if those stupid roosters don't want to crow? If we've learned to live without men, we can learn to live without cocks. ↗

— James Cañón

#humor #james-cañón #magic-realism #mariquita #tales-from-the-town-of-widows

It's never too late to start over! ↗

— Lynne Gentry

#inspirational #starting-over #widows #women-s-fiction #humor

This is the way that it goes. In your mid forties you have your first crisis of mortality (death will not ignore me); and ten years later you have your first crisis of age (my body whispers that death is already intrigued by me). But something very interesting happens to you in between. As the fiftieth birthday approaches, you get that sense that your life is thinning out, and will continue to thin out, until it thins out into nothing. And you sometimes say to yourself; That went a bit quick. That went a bit quick. In certain moods you may want to put it a bit more forcefully. As in: OY!! That went a BIT FUCKING QUICK!!!.... Then fifty comes and goes, and fifty-one, and fifty-two. And life thickens out again. Because there is now an enormous and unsuspected presence within your being, like an undiscovered continent. This is the past. ↗

— Martin Amis

#age