Earrings Inspirational Quotes

Bill was — there was no other word for it — cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill’s clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.

Life is sometimes hard, and you have to laugh your way through it.

Gate C22 At gate C22 in the Portland airport a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed a woman arriving from Orange County. They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking, the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island, like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing. Neither of them was young. His beard was gray. She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish kisses like the ocean in the early morning, the way it gathers and swells, sucking each rock under, swallowing it again and again. We were all watching– passengers waiting for the delayed flight to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots, the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling sunglasses. We couldn’t look away. We could taste the kisses crushed in our mouths. But the best part was his face. When he drew back and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost as though he were a mother still open from giving birth, as your mother must have looked at you, no matter what happened after–if she beat you or left you or you’re lonely now–you once lay there, the vernix not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth. The whole wing of the airport hushed, all of us trying to slip into that woman’s middle-aged body, her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses, little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

This is my Lost Property cupboard theory of the afterlife - when we die we are taken to a great lost property cupboard where all the things we have ever lost have been kept for us - every hairgrip, every button and pencil, every tooth, every earring and key, every key, every pin. All the library books, all the cats that never came back, all the coins, all the watches (which will still be keeping time for us). And perhaps, too, the other less tangible things - tempers and patience (perhaps Patricia´s virginity will be there), religion, meaning, innocence and oceans of time.

Make for yourself a world you can believe in. It sounds simple, I know. But it’s not. Listen, there are a million worlds you could make for yourself. Everyone you know has a completely different one—the woman in 5G, that cab driver over there, you. Sure, there are overlaps, but only in the details. Some people make their worlds around what they think reality is like. They convince themselves that they had nothing to do with their worlds’ creations or continuations. Some make their worlds without knowing it. Their universes are just sesame seeds and three-day weekends and dial tones and skinned knees and physics and driftwood and emerald earrings and books dropped in bathtubs and holes in guitars and plastic and empathy and hardwood and heavy water and high black stockings and the history of the Vikings and brass and obsolescence and burnt hair and collapsed souffles and the impossibility of not falling in love in an art museum with the person standing next to you looking at the same painting and all the other things that just happen and are. But you want to make for yourself a world that is deliberately and meticulously personalized. A theater for your life, if I could put it like that. Don’t live an accident. Don’t call a knife a knife. Live a life that has never been lived before, in which everything you experience is yours and only yours. Make accidents on purpose. Call a knife a name by which only you will recognize it. Now I’m not a very smart man, but I’m not a dumb one, either. So listen: If you can manage what I’ve told you, as I was never able to, you will give your life meaning.

hipster fashion of the moment. And he wore an earring, as if to say, “I have a position, but I’m not a conformist.” The men in the audience were slumped in their seats, legs crossed, arms condescendingly folded over their chests. Laura was taking notes, accompanying every word by nodding her head of thick, curly hair. What was his trick? His face revealed few expressions; from time to time he smiled briefly, the only movement on his tanned face. Still, those smiles lit it up, and this was probably not planned. Or maybe it was, because at regular intervals he would imperceptibly lean toward the audience, and the middle-aged women with Botoxed lips clung to their seats. He talked about a recent trip in a Ford Fiesta. “We’d meet at the bar in the piazza, Giovanni and Gabriele and I, and hold impromptu discussions inspired by Malvasia.” He gave us time to marvel over the fact that he did not have an Audi. “Giovanni Ascolti and Gabriele Galli, the founders of the publishing house Marea,” Laura whispered in my ear. “Oh.” Silence floated through the room when he closed his mouth. The seconds hung suspended between us and him, in midair, as if surprised to be there. But then Vittorio took off his glasses, smiled, said, “Thank you,” and time obeyed that smile and began to flow again. The audience applauded, and the seconds too returned to their place, in the ticking of the clocks. Well

A lot of educated, thoughtful, well-meaning people will spend hours and hundreds of dollars buying their rascally child this year's must-have toy at Christmastime. A lot of overworked, distracted, sort-of-nice husbands will purchase diamond earrings to make things better with the wife they are ignoring. Gadget purchased. Household calm. Jewelry bought. Wife satisfied. We put an impressive amount of faith in the capacity of material things that other people make to repair the troubled circumstances of our own creation.

Joy is an incredible emotion that is available to all of us! It isn’t found in skinny jeans, trips to Mexico, fancy dinner reservations, a thrilling Netflix series, or even a sparkly pair of earrings; rather, Joy is a deep happiness that comes from within.