Quotes About Imperfection

People aren't evil and people aren't good. They live how they can one day at a time. They come out of dust they go back to dust, dusty feet, no wings, and whose fault is that?

Even the best of us are at least part-time bastards.

Nobody gets lucky all the time. Nobody can win all the time. Nobody's a robot. Nobody's perfect.

Nobody's perfect, but at the same time, I always try to learn from my mistakes.

I tend to be not a person who does everything right all the time.

Nobody's perfect. Everyone slides here and there, and they have their ups and downs. When they are down, that is not the time to step all over them.

I don't always like my own behavior. I haven't known anyone who is perfect all the time.

We're not meant to be perfect. It took me a long time to learn that.

It calmed me down to see that most of the time no-one gets the scene on the first take.

Forgive me, that I manage badly, Manage badly but live gloriously, That I leave traces of myself in my songs, That I appeared to you in waking dreams.

there is always a but in this imperfect world!

You prefer her faults to other people's perfection.

You're only human. You don't have to have it together every minute of the day.

You're only human. You don't have to have it together every minute of every day.

you're only human. you dont have to have it together every minute of everyday

most of the time, all you have is the moment, and the imperfect love of the people around you.

Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground - you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing needs to breathe and move.

I think we're all pretty crazy on this bus. I'm not sure I know anyone who's got all the dots on his or her dice.

There is nothing more touching to me then a family picture where everyone is trying to look his or her best, but you can see what a mess they all really are.

Over and over I feel as if my characters know who they are, and what happens to them, and where they have been and where they will go, and what they are capable of doing, but they need me to write it down for them because their handwriting is so bad.

Perfectionism means that you try not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived.

When we think we can do it all ourselves--fix, save, buy, or date a nice solution--it's hopeless. We're going to screw things up. We're going to get our tentacles wrapped around things and squirt our squiddy ink all over, so that there is even less visibility, and then we're going to squeeze the very life out of everything.

All these people keep waxing sentimental about how fabulously well I am doing as a mother, how competent I am, but I feel inside like when you're first learning to put nail polish on your right hand with your left. You can do it, but it doesn't look all that great around the cuticles.

We live stitch by stitch, when we're lucky. If you fixate on the big picture, the whole shebang, the overview, you miss the stitching. And maybe the stitching is crude, or it is unraveling, but if it were precise, we'd pretend that life was just fine and running like a Swiss watch. This is not helpful if on the inside our understanding is that life is more often a cuckoo clock with rusty gears.