Dim Your Sparkle Quotes

Only cast your pure eyes into the well of my delight, friends! You will not dim its sparkle! It shall laugh back at you with its purity.

He looked at her levelly. There was something in his eyes, a sort of quizzical admiration; she wondered if it was simply admiration of Jessamine’s looks. “No,” he said. “No, even though you are the perfect picture of Jessamine, I can see Tessa through it somehow as if, if I were to scrape away a layer of paint, there would be my Tessa underneath.” “I am not your Tessa either.” The light sparkling in his eyes dimmed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I suppose you are not.

Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused—in whose mind some pleasant associations are not awakened—by the recurrence of Christmas. There are people who will tell you that Christmas is not to them what it used to be; that each succeeding Christmas has found some cherished hope, or happy prospect, of the year before, dimmed or passed away; that the present only serves to remind them of reduced circumstances and straitened incomes—of the feasts they once bestowed on hollow friends, and of the cold looks that meet them now, in adversity and misfortune. Never heed such dismal reminiscences. There are few men who have lived long enough in the world who cannot call up such thoughts any day of the year. Then do not select the merriest of the three hundred and sixty-five for your doleful recollections, but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire—fill the glass and send round the song—and if your room be smaller than it was a dozen years ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch, instead of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter, and empty it offhand, and fill another, and troll off the old ditty you used to sing, and thank God it’s no worse.

The moment I fell, my wings wilted like roses left too long in the vase. The misery of the bare back is to live after flight, to be the low that will never again rise. “To live on land is to live in a dimming station, but to fly above, everything sparkles, everything is endlessly crystal. Even the dry dirt improves to jewel when you can be the wings over it. “To be removed from flight is to be removed from the comet lines, the star-soaked song. How can I go on from that? How can I be something of value when I’ve lost my most valuable me? Land is my forever now, my thoroughly ended heaven. No sky will have me, no God either. “I am the warning to all little children before bedtime. Say your prayers, be done with sin, lest you become the devil, the one too sunk, no save will have him.” Dad

Just like the Little Unicorn, you can create magic when you believe in yourself and cherish your friends. Your sparkle is always within you and shines brightest when you spread love, joy, and kindness. Never let anything dim your sparkle.

Where are you?” she shouted. “Don’t you see us?” taunted the woman’s voice. “I thought Hecate chose you for your skill.” Another bout of queasiness churned through Hazel’s gut. On her shoulder, Gale barked and passed gas, which didn’t help. Dark spots floated in Hazel’s eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they only turned darker. The spots consolidated into a twenty-foot-tall shadowy figure looming next to the Doors. The giant Clytius was shrouded in the black smoke, just as she’d seen in her vision at the crossroads, but now Hazel could dimly make out his form—dragon-like legs with ash-colored scales; a massive humanoid upper body encased in Stygian armor; long, braided hair that seemed to be made from smoke. His complexion was as dark as Death’s (Hazel should know, since she had met Death personally). His eyes glinted cold as diamonds. He carried no weapon, but that didn’t make him any less terrifying. Leo whistled. “You know, Clytius…for such a big dude, you’ve got a beautiful voice.” “Idiot,” hissed the woman. Halfway between Hazel and the giant, the air shimmered. The sorceress appeared. She wore an elegant sleeveless dress of woven gold, her dark hair piled into a cone, encircled with diamonds and emeralds. Around her neck hung a pendant like a miniature maze, on a cord set with rubies that made Hazel think of crystallized blood drops. The woman was beautiful in a timeless, regal way—like a statue you might admire but could never love. Her eyes sparkled with malice. “Pasiphaë,” Hazel said. The woman inclined her head. “My dear Hazel Levesque.” Leo coughed. “You two know each other? Like Underworld chums, or—” “Silence, fool.” Pasiphaë’s voice was soft, but full of venom. “I have no use for demigod boys—always so full of themselves, so brash and destructive.” “Hey, lady,” Leo protested. “I don’t destroy things much. I’m a son of Hephaestus.” “A tinkerer,” snapped Pasiphaë. “Even worse. I knew Daedalus. His inventions brought me nothing but trouble.” Leo blinked. “Daedalus…like, the Daedalus? Well, then, you should know all about us tinkerers. We’re more into fixing, building, occasionally sticking wads of oilcloth in the mouths of rude ladies—” “Leo.” Hazel put her arm across his chest. She had a feeling the sorceress was about to turn him into something unpleasant if he didn’t shut up. “Let me take this, okay?

But at nights we are stars. You are a star and I'm on the roof, you are a star and I'm eyes, you are a star and I'm lungs, lungs breathing in your air, the air that gets lighter upon spotting the sparkle, the air that gets lighter upon seeing you shine, the air that I write about every night, the one that sets my soul on fire and leaves it freezing cold. I could be a moon, well I could as well be The Sun if I wanted to, but I'd rather be here, I'd rather stay humane, it gives me a chance to feel your air wrapping its arms around me, I'd rather stay human because my eyes can only love dimmed lights, they can only stay underneath your lights, I'd rather save my own light for nights when this city is burning up and you have no choice but to stay invisible, I'd rather save enough light to find you then even when no one else can.

Straight off, we were in the country. It was most lovely and pleasant in those sylvan solitudes in the early cool morning in the first freshness of autumn. From hilltops we saw fair green valleys lying spread out below, with streams winding through them, and island groves of trees here and there, and huge lonely oaks scattered about and casting black blots of shade; and beyond the valleys we saw the ranges of hills, blue with haze, stretching away in billowy perspective to the horizon, with at wide intervals a dim fleck of white or gray on a wave-summit, which we knew was a castle. We crossed broad natural lawns sparkling with dew, and we moved like spirits, the cushioned turf giving out no sound of footfall; we dreamed along through glades in a mist of green light that got its tint from the sun-drenched roof of leaves overhead, and by our feet the clearest and coldest of runlets went frisking and gossiping over its reefs and making a sort of whispering music, comfortable to hear; and at times we left the world behind and entered into the solemn great deeps and rich gloom of the forest, where furtive wild things whisked and scurried by and were gone before you could even get your eye on the place where the noise was; and where only the earliest birds were turning out and getting to business with a song here and a quarrel yonder and a mysterious far-off hammering and drumming for worms on a tree trunk away somewhere in the impenetrable remotenesses of the woods. And by and by out we would swing again into the glare.

If loneliness or sadness or happiness could be expressed through food, loneliness would be basil. It’s not good for your stomach, dims your eyes, and turns your mind murky. If you pound basil and place a stone over it, scorpions swarm toward it. Happiness is saffron, from the crocus that blooms in the spring. Even if you add just a pinch to a dish, it adds an intense taste and a lingering scent. You can find it anywhere but you can’t get it at any time of the year. It’s good for your heart, and if you drop a little bit in your wine, you instantly become drunk from its heady perfume. The best saffron crumbles at the touch and instantaneously emits its fragrance. Sadness is a knobby cucumber, whose aroma you can detect from far away. It’s tough and hard to digest and makes you fall ill with a high fever. It’s porous, excellent at absorption, and sponges up spices, guaranteeing a lengthy period of preservation. Pickles are the best food you can make from cucumbers. You boil vinegar and pour it over the cucumbers, then season with salt and pepper. You enclose them in a sterilized glass jar, seal it, and store it in a dark and dry place. WON’S KITCHEN. I take off the sign hanging by the first-floor entryway. He designed it by hand and silk-screened it onto a metal plate. Early in the morning on the day of the opening party for the cooking school, he had me hang the sign myself. I was meaning to give it a really special name, he said, grinning, flashing his white teeth, but I thought Jeong Ji-won was the most special name in the world. He called my name again: Hey, Ji-won. He walked around the house calling my name over and over, mischievously — as if he were an Eskimo who believed that the soul became imprinted in the name when it was called — while I fried an egg, cautiously sprinkling grated Emmentaler, salt, pepper, taking care not to pop the yolk. I spread the white sun-dried tablecloth on the coffee table and set it with the fried egg, unsalted butter, blueberry jam, and a baguette I’d toasted in the oven. It was our favorite breakfast: simple, warm, sweet. As was his habit, he spread a thick layer of butter and jam on his baguette and dunked it into his coffee, and I plunked into my cup the teaspoon laced with jam, waiting for the sticky sweetness to melt into the hot, dark coffee. I still remember the sugary jam infusing the last drop of coffee and the moist crumbs of the baguette lingering at the roof of my mouth. And also his words, informing me that he wanted to design a new house that would contain the cooking school, his office, and our bedroom. Instead of replying, I picked up a firm red radish, sparkling with droplets of water, dabbed a little butter on it, dipped it in salt, and stuck it into my mouth. A crunch resonated from my mouth. Hoping the crunch sounded like, Yes, someday, I continued to eat it. Was that the reason I equated a fresh red radish with sprouting green tops, as small as a miniature apple, with the taste of love? But if I cut into it crosswise like an apple, I wouldn't find the constellation of seeds.

Rhys laughed, finally sauntering toward the other end of the hall, which ended in a veranda open to the stars. 'I'm willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know,' he called to me without looking back. Red exploded in my vision, and I couldn't breathe fast enough, couldn't think above the roar in my head. One heartbeat, I was staring at him- the next, I had my shoe in a hand. I hurled it at him with all my strength. All my considerable, immortal strength. I barely saw my silk slipper as it flew through the air, fast as a shooting star, so fast that even a High Lord couldn't detect it as it neared- And slammed into his head. Rhys whirled, a hand rising to the back of his head, his eyes wide. I already had the other shoe in my hand. Rhys's lip pulled back from his teeth. 'I dare you.' Temper- he had to be in some mood today to let his temper show this much. Good. That made two of us. I flung my other shoe right at his head, as swift and hard as the first one. His hand snatched up, grabbing the shoe mere inches from his face. Rhys hissed and lowered the shoe, his eyes meeting mine as the silk dissolved to glittering black dust in his fist. His fingers unfurled, the last of the sparkling ashes blowing into oblivion, and he surveyed my hand, my body, my face. 'Interesting,' he murmured, and continued on his way. I debated tackling him and pummelling that face with my firsts, but I wasn't stupid. I was in his home, on top of a mountain in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it seemed. No one would be coming to rescue me- no one was even here to witness my screaming. So I turned toward the doorway he'd indicated, heading for the dim stairwell beyond. I'd nearly reached it, not daring to breathe too loudly, when a bright, amused female voice said behind me- far away, from wherever Rhys had gone to at the opposite end of the hall, 'So, that went well.' Rhys's answering snarl sent my footsteps hurrying away.

Elizabeth’s breakfast had cured Ian’s hunger, in fact, the idea of ever eating again made his stomach churn as he started for the barn to check on Mayhem’s injury. He was partway there when he saw her off to the left, sitting on the hillside amid the bluebells, her arms wrapped around her knees, her forehead resting atop them. Even with her hair shining like newly minted gold in the sun, she looked like a picture of heartbreaking dejection. He started to turn away and leave her to moody privacy; then, with a sigh of irritation, he changed his mind and started down the hill toward her. A few yards away he realized her shoulders were shaking with sobs, and he frowned in surprise. Obviously there was no point in pretending the meal had been good, so he injected a note of amusement into his voice and said, “I applaud your ingenuity-shooting me yesterday would have been too quick.” Elizabeth started violently at the sound of his voice. Snapping her head up, she stared off to the left, keeping her tear-streaked face averted from him. “Did you want something?” “Dessert?” Ian suggested wryly, leaning slightly forward, trying to see her face. He thought he saw a morose smile touch her lips, and he added, “I thought we could whip up a batch of cream and put it on the biscuit. Afterward we can take whatever is left, mix it with the leftover eggs, and use it to patch the roof.” A teary chuckle escaped her, and she drew a shaky breath but still refused to look at him as she said, “I’m surprised you’re being so pleasant about it.” “There’s no sense crying over burnt bacon.” “I wasn’t crying over that,” she said, feeling sheepish and bewildered. A snowy handkerchief appeared before her face, and Elizabeth accepted it, dabbing at her wet cheeks. “Then why were you crying?” She gazed straight ahead, her eyes focused on the surrounding hills splashed with bluebells and hawthorn, the handkerchief clenched in her hand. “I was crying for my own ineptitude, and for my inability to control my life,” she admitted. The word “ineptitude” startled Ian, and it occurred to him that for the shallow little flirt he supposed her to be she had an exceptionally fine vocabulary. She glanced up at him then, and Ian found himself gazing into a pair of green eyes the amazing color of wet leaves. With tears still sparkling on her long russet lashes, her long hair tied back in a girlish bow, her full breasts thrusting against the bodice of her gown, she was a picture of alluring innocence and intoxicating sensuality. Ian jerked his gaze from her breasts and said abruptly, “I’m going to cut some wood so we’ll have it for a fire tonight. Afterward I’m going to do some fishing for our supper. I trust you’ll find a way to amuse yourself in the meantime.” Startled by his sudden brusqueness, Elizabeth nodded and stood up, dimly aware that he did not offer his hand to assist her.

When life gives you negative things or people, dip it in glitter and sparkle all day and everyday. Don't ever let anyone dim your sparkle.

Never sacrifice the best parts of yourself for someone who can only see flaws. Why dim your light for someone who can't handle your shine? You don’t need anyone’s validation to shine. So, pick up your pieces, embrace your beauty, flaws, and all, and walk away. Trust me, you will be flourishing in your own brilliance, unapologetically you, and love every moment of it. Never dim your sparkle, darling, for someone who can't handle your shine. You shine brighter than a diamond!

Don’t you dare stop growing. Don’t you dare stop glowing. Keep being that dazzling beam of light you are. Shine bright, thrive on, and let your brilliance light up the world around you. Your journey is just warming up, and the best is yet to come. Stay radiant, stay unstoppable, and never let anyone or anything dim your sparkle. So go on, glow-getter, keep sparkling, and keep shining—because the world needs your light!

Don’t you dare stop growing. Don’t you dare stop glowing. Keep being that dazzling beam of light you are. Shine bright, thrive on, and let your brilliance light up the world around you. Your journey is just warming up, and the best is yet to come. Stay radiant, stay unstoppable, and never let anyone or anything dim your sparkle. So go on, glow-getter, keep sparkling and keep shining—because the world needs your light!

Statistical surveying assumes a critical part in grasping business sector elements, customer conduct, and industry patterns, especially in arising economies like Myanmar. As organizations in Myanmar look to explore a quickly developing business sector scene, the administrations presented by statistical surveying firms become progressively important. In this article, we will investigate the universe of market research firms in Myanmar , with a particular spotlight on AMT Statistical surveying. From their administrations and industry experiences to their effect on business development, we will dive into the key viewpoints that make statistical surveying fundamental for progress in Myanmar's business climate. 1. 1. Prologue to Statistical surveying Firms in Myanmar Understanding the Statistical surveying Industry in Myanmar Welcome to the universe of market research firms in Myanmar! In a nation overflowing with potential and valuable learning experiences, statistical surveying firms assume a vital part in assisting organizations with exploring the unique scene. 2. Outline of AMT Statistical surveying in Myanmar Foundation and History of AMT Statistical surveying AMT Statistical surveying isn't your regular person in the business. With a set of experiences as brilliant as a rainbow and a standing that sparkles more splendid than a disco ball, AMT has cut its name as a believed accomplice for organizations looking for bits of knowledge in Myanmar. Key Differentiators of AMT Statistical surveying What separates AMT from the rest? Consider them the Sherlock Holmes of statistical surveying - sharp, clever, and consistently a stride ahead. Their mystery ingredient lies in their capacity to mix information with instinct, giving clients a triumphant edge on the lookout. 3. Administrations Presented by AMT Statistical surveying Statistical surveying and Investigation Administrations AMT doesn't simply do the math and regurgitate reports. They jump profound into the dim waters of market patterns, purchaser conduct, and contender experiences to present a platter of key suggestions that hit the bullseye without fail. Counseling and Warning Administrations Need a directing hand in the deceptive territory of the Myanmar market? AMT's counseling and warning administrations resemble a compass, pointing you in the correct heading and assisting you with avoiding entanglements. Think of them as your market whisperers. 4. Industry Bits of knowledge and Patterns in Myanmar Key Businesses in Myanmar's Market From the clamoring roads of Yangon to the quiet shores of Inle Lake, Myanmar's market is a blend of different businesses. Whether it's the roaring tech area or the customary rural industry, AMT Statistical surveying keeps a finger on the beat, all things considered, Arising Patterns and Potential open doors What's hot and what's not in Myanmar? AMT Statistical surveying has their radio wires up, scouring the skyline for arising patterns and once in a lifetime kinds of chances that could be a distinct advantage for organizations. Remain tuned with them to ride the flood of progress in Myanmar's always developing market.## 5. Significance of Statistical surveying in Myanmar's Business Scene Statistical surveying assumes a urgent part in assisting organizations with exploring the unique scene of Myanmar. By giving significant bits of knowledge into purchaser inclinations, market patterns, and contender techniques, statistical surveying engages organizations to pursue informed choices that drive development and achievement.

Turning to the canvas bag, she pulled out a foil package. The smoky, buttery smell of naan made the different types of hunger coursing inside him mix together. "Does your mom actually make naan at home?" She opened the packet and held it in front of his nose, and he picked one up and shoved it in his mouth and almost died on the spot from the chewy, yeasty deliciousness. "Mummy's made it since before homemade naan was a trend. My parents have always had an old-fashioned tandoor oven in the house. Because Dr. Kohli needs his naan and kababs." The brightness sparkling in her eyes dimmed.

I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, 'Do you want to dance?' 'To "Little Brown Jug"?' I raise a skeptical eyebrow. 'All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.' Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. 'Party pooper.

I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, "Do you want to dance?" “To ‘Little Brown Jug’?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.” Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. “Party pooper.

I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, 'Do you want to dance?' 'To "Little Brown Jug"?' I raise a skeptical eyebrow. 'All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.' Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. 'Party pooper.