"Kids need to see that Jesus is the best thing that ever happened to us. And they need to know it can happen to them."
About Sue Miller
Sue Miller — Life and Legacy
Sue Miller is a prominent American author celebrated for her nuanced exploration of human relationships and emotional depth. Her novel 'The Good Mother' stands out as a significant work that examines the complexities of motherhood and the moral dilemmas that accompany it. Miller's writing often reflects her belief that love is not merely a source of joy but also a catalyst for conflict and self-discovery. In her narratives, Miller articulates the tension between personal desires and societal expectations, as seen in her characters' struggles. For instance, she poignantly captures the emotional turmoil of a mother torn between her love for her child and her own identity. This is evident when she writes about the sacrifices mothers make, revealing how these choices shape their lives and relationships. Through her quotes, Miller challenges the idealized notions of motherhood, prompting readers to confront the often unspoken realities of love and responsibility. Miller's insights remain relevant today, as they resonate with anyone navigating the complexities of relationships. Her ability to articulate the inner conflicts faced by her characters invites readers to reflect on their own experiences, making her work both impactful and enduring.
Quote collection
Sue Miller quotes
10 quotes — follow a thought to its full quote page.
"There is something truly restorative, finally comforting, in coming to the end of an illusion - a false hope."
"But pain may be a gift to us. Remember, after all, that pain is one of the ways we register in memory the things that vanish, that are taken away. We fix them in our minds forever by yearning, by pain, by crying out. Pain, the pain that seems unbearable at the time, is memory's first imprinting step, the cornerstone of the temple we erect inside us in memory of the dead. Pain is part of memory, and memory is a God-given gift."
"It seems we need someone to know us as we are - with all we have done - and forgive us. We need to tell. We need to be whole in someone's sight: Know this about me, and yet love me. Please."
"And I was remembering that time in our lives together, the time of those ritual walks. I was remembering the way it feels at just that moment when you begin to turn, when you’re poised exactly between the things in life you want to do and those you need to do, and it seems for a few blessed seconds that they are all going to be the same."
"And what if we’d been utterly open? Made jokes about the first wife? What if we’d been that kind of family? Well, I would have been different, surely. But not because I knew the secret. For it wasn’t the secret—the secret that wasn’t a secret anyway—that led to the austerity in our lives. It was the austerity that led to the secret. And what I had been marked by, probably most of all, was the austerity. It had made secrets in my life too. Or silences, anyway, that became secrets. That became lies."
"But perhaps this is all to the good. Perhaps it’s best to live with the possibility that around any corner, at any time, may come the person who reminds you of your own capacity to surprise yourself, to put at risk everything that’s dear to you. Who reminds you of the distances we have to bridge to begin to know anything about one another. Who reminds you that what seems to be—even about yourself—may not be. That like him, you need to be forgiven."
"I felt the kind of desperation, I think, that cancels the possibility of empathy...that makes you unkind."
"I suppose in our contemporary lives, our cumulative e-mails might constitute a kind of diary: that informal, moment-by-moment description of life as it goes by. . As I think of those notes now - what I wrote, what I said - it seems to me they danced across the surface just as my grandmother's diaries did - Anais Nin she wasn't, and I wasn't, either. Who is? Not even Anais Nin."
"Loss brings pain. Yes. But pain triggers memory. And memory is a kind of new birth, within each of us. And it is that new birth after long pain, that resurrection - in memory - that, to our surprise, perhaps, comforts us."