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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave Mistakes focus our minds on specific details. They weed out truths and afford us goals, bringing straight to our attention lessons to be learned. Mistakes are not meant to make us failures; they are meant to make us wise. - Quote by Richelle E. Goodrich

Mistakes focus our minds on specific details. They weed out truths and afford us goals, bringing straight to our attention lessons to be learned. Mistakes are not meant to make us failures; they are meant to make us wise.

Richelle E. Goodrich
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Last night I danced. My body rose from its slump for the first time since the beginning of sorrows—my fingers beckoning to the stars at arm's length, back arching as tingles bubbled up my spine, hips caught in a silent tempo while on tiptoe I twirled in endless euphoric circles. It didn't matter that you loved me or that you didn't. For I was wanted by the gods last night, their seraphs and muses descending on moonbeams into my midst, caressing my face and gliding their spirited arms about my waist, lifting my toes from the soil that I might feel what it is to fly without heaviness of heart. I danced with them under the glow of a loyal moon. For one brief, visceral dance I joyed as Heaven joys—in endless bliss.And the universe cherished me.
Richelle E. Goodrich
Tell me you didn’t,” she groaned, knowing it would not be the truth. “Please tell me you didn’t take advantage of these poor people.”t“I didn’t,” he chirped.t“Liar.”tWith an irritated sigh he tried to convince her. “Amora, you’re not seeing things from an immortal perspective. The people who built this temple…”t“Temple?” she cried, cutting him off. “You forced these people to build you a temple? Why? Because all of a sudden you’re God now?”tPerturbed by her interruption, he raised a warning finger. “No, no, Amora, not God. But from their viewpoint I may seem a bit…..god-like.”tShe rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner.t“If you would let me finish,” he went on, “these particular individuals had no part in the construction of that monument; it was their ancestors who erected it. And I must say, they did a fine job. My likeness has weathered the centuries quite well.”t“You’re despicable.”tHe frowned at the insult. “Nobody was forced to build us a temple, Amora. They chose to do so.”t“You were that impressive to them, huh?”t“Apparently.” His eyes twinkled at the memory. He took a few steps toward the distant city, pulling Eena along. “Come on, let’s go have some fun.”t“No way.” She planted her feet, refusing. Surprisingly it put a stop to him. t“And why not?”t“Because your sudden appearance will upset them! No doubt you’ll want to show off with some shockingly grand entrance. I’m not going to take part in a game of deceit.”t“I’m not deceiving anyone,” Edgar disputed. “I can’t help it if they happen to think I’m perfectly magnificent.”tHis pompous view of himself earned a nasty look as well as a lecture. “I can’t believe you’re okay with selling people lies that affect the way they live and think! You’re not even close to being a god, Edgar, and yet you allow them to accept you as some sort of deity because of your unusual abilities. For centuries now you’ve abandoned this world and a population who probably looked to you and your lousy sisters for help. It’s all a big, disgusting sham!”tEdgar pouted like a child. “Fine—spoil all my fun. We’ll go do something else. Something that doesn’t include your poor, fragile, stupid mortals.”t“They’re not stupid.”t“They think I’m a god,” he sn
Richelle E. Goodrich
Oh what marvels fill me with thanksgiving!The deep mahogany of a leaf once green. The feathered fronds of tiny icicles coating every twig and branch in a wintry landscape. The feel of goosebumps thawing after endured frozen temperatures. Both hands clamped around a hot mug of herbal tea. The aromatic whiff of mint under my nose. The stir of emotion from a child's cry for mommy. A gift of love detached of strings. Spotted lilies collecting raindrops in a cupped clump of petals. The vibrant mélange of colors on butterfly wings. The milky luster of a single pearl. Rainbows reflecting off iridescence bubbles. Awe-struck silence evoked by any form of beauty.Avocado flecks in your eyes.Warm hands on my face.Sweetness on the tongue.The harmony of voices.An answered prayer.A pink balloon.A caress.A smile.More.These have become my treasures by virtue of thanksgiving.
Richelle E. Goodrich
The world is full of opinions. But I am not searching for opinions, I'm searching for truths.
Richelle E. Goodrich
I stumble and fall.I weep and struggle to rise.My mom feels it all.
Richelle E. Goodrich
My soul, I’ve found, has puppet strings to make me droop or give me wings.And music is the puppeteerthat turns my ear to hear.
Richelle E. Goodrich
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