At one time in my life, from the time I was seven until I was about 13, I didn't speak. I only spoke to my brother. The reason I didn't speak: I had been molested, and I told the name of the molester to my brother who told it to the family.

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou

Profession: Poet
Nationality: American

Some suggestions for you :

The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself.

Although I had no regrets, I told myself sadly that growing up was not the painless process one would have thought it to be.

Our stories come from our lives and from the playwright's pen, the mind of the actor, the roles we create, the artistry of life itself and the quest for peace.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

Jealousy in romance is like salt in food. A little can enhance the savor, but too much can spoil the pleasure and, under certain circumstances, can be life-threatening.

Style is as unique and nontransferable and perfectly personal as a fingerprint. It is wise to take the time to develop one's own way of being, increasing those things one does well and eliminating the elements in one's character which can hinder and diminish the good personality.

Glasses clinked and voices rubbed each other.

I've always written. There's a journal which I kept from about 9 years old. The man who gave it to me lived across the street from the store and kept it when my grandmother's papers were destroyed. I'd written some essays. I loved poetry, still do. But I really, really loved it then.

I don't think she ever knew that a deep-brooding love hung over everything she touched.

Go," she whispered. "Go. Show them you spell your name W-O-M-A-N.

As far as I knew white women were never lonely, except in books. White men adored them, Black men desired them and Black women worked for them.

I was very blessed to have family and friends, but particularly family, who told me I was not only all right, I was just right, so I believe that my brain is a good one, and it's lasting me very well.

Even Christ Himself turned His back on Satan. Wouldn't He turn His back on me? I could feel the evilness flowing through my body and waiting, pent up, to rush off my tongue if I tried to open my mouth. I clamped my teeth shut, I'd hold it in. If it escaped, wouldn't it flood the world and all the innocent people?