Hd Life Quotes

If my redemption resides somewhere within you, then I will spend the rest of my life searching for it inside of you.

I’ll have her because she’s the first thing that made me feel something good in so long, and I’ve become obsessed with keeping it. I don’t have very many something goods in my life, and I don’t care if it makes me selfish for wanting to hold on to it.

The day you stole from me was the best day of my life,” he whispers against my lips. “Because then you became my life, and I don’t want it back. I won’t fucking take it.

At least you’ll end up marrying a rich man,” I comment. She pins me with a dry look. “Now I can never marry you. It’s my life’s purpose to disappoint her in every decision I make.” I arch a brow. “Don’t underestimate me, Addie. I’ll become a poor man for you.

If worshiping you is what you ask, I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life on my knees,” I tell her, my voice dipped so low, it’s nearly unrecognizable.

But you can’t silence heartbreak. It’s loud and painful. Even after you grieve and heal, it lingers in the background, sliding back into your life just when you think you’ve overcome it.

Until we meet someday.

You’re searching for life inside that sunset, yet I seek death between your thighs,” he rasps, his deep voice husky with desire.

Because I’ve waited my whole life for someone like you. And now that I finally found it, I’m fucking terrified of losing it.

She didn't know that all her life would be spent gambling with the stark rigidity of words, words that were coin: save, spend and all the time George with his own counter had found her a way out.

Life strips you of power often, but what you can control is pointing the blame in the right direction.

They walk together, listing and pitching, bumping off the hallway walls and each other’s hips. A drunk wife and a husband with HD. They make a fine pair. As they lurch down the hallway and finally make it to the kitchen, it occurs to Joe that this is the best anyone can hope for in life. Someone you love to stagger through the hard times with.

Zade is quiet for a beat. “Happiness is fleeting. All that matters is that they’re living their life the way they want to.” “You believe that?” I ask, facing him. “That happiness is fleeting?” He shrugs, tossing the last bite of his cone into his mouth, and chews as he contemplates something. “Absolutely,” he says finally. “It’s not something solid you can hold on to. It’s vapor in the wind, and all you can do is inhale it when it’s near and hope it comes around again when it blows away.

The knife is duller than a grandma’s sex life, and getting through muscle and bone takes much longer than I’d like.

I don’t want to fix you, Molly. There’s nothing to mend when you’ve already done that yourself. The only thing I will do is ensure there isn’t a single part of you that is empty. Your life, your heart, and your sweet pussy.

People often only care about life when it’s inside of a woman’s stomach but stop caring once that life is born. Makes me wonder if people choose this route because they couldn't get the help they needed.

Happiness is fleeting. All that matters is that they’re living their life the way they want to.

No more running, baby. I want him to come looking for you just so I can have the privilege of ending his life for touching what’s mine.

Body of a Greek god? Check. Could ruin my life with just the tip? Check. Has a permanent scowl and carries himself like he hates the world? Just fuck me already.

Halloween is my entire life, Daya. Of course, we’re going to fucking haunted houses.

To put it bluntly, if you don't have AD/HD, you do things because they are important. If you have AD/HD, you do things because they are interesting.

People often only care about life when it’s inside of a woman’s stomach but stop caring once that life is born.

Your hatred has always tasted like heaven, little mouse. If I have to spend the rest of my life on my knees, then I will use my mouth for more than just begging for your forgiveness.

Just about anything is more interesting than keeping a regular schedule of sleeping and eating. However, almost nothing will make as big a difference in getting maximum performance from an AD/HD brain as healthy living habits.

I'm not even sure why I'm crying anymore. Because of what could've happened? Or because I have to start over once again? Maybe it's because no matter how hard I try to get my feet firmly beneath me, they always get kicked out. I just… I can't take this anymore. I don't want to die, but I don't want to exist. And I wish with every ounce of my soul that I was never born. That I had never been brought into a world so cold, violent, and full of heartache. And the worst part is that even though I feel dead inside, I'm painfully aware of how alive I am. I dread every night when I fall asleep because I know I have to wake up again and do this life for another day.

Even if a man spends his life staring at shadows, he will still know where the sun is.

Never in my life would I think River to ever be shy, but fuck if it doesn’t do something to me.

In the world we came from, our existence was so easy. And so full of discontent because it was so easy. How do you find meaning when you’re one of seven billion? When food, clothing, everything you need is just one Walmart away? When we numb our minds to sleep on all manner of screens and HD entertainment, the meaning of life, of our existence and purpose, becomes lost.

She said at the national ADDA (Attention Deficit Disorder Association) conference that their AD/HD symptoms often only show up at home after an exhausting effort to “hold it together all day.

If you go to an event, give yourself permission to leave early when you’re worn down, knowing that you want to go and connect to people, but that you want to leave before you stop enjoying the situation. Set it up and think it through in advance so you don’t feel anxious. Plan for your AD/HD.

AD/HD is such a full-time job that some women have never had the opportunity to stop and figure out a way of doing things differently. They haven’t discovered how to change the rules, what it means to feel comfortable, or how to live without feeling overwhelmed. They just don’t have the concept.

One way some women mask their AD/HD symptoms is to anchor their lives with extensive systems and controls. They may seriously limit the amount of activities in their lives in order to keep things under control.

After a woman understands that she does have something called AD/HD and has had it for a long time, she begins to look back and see how deeply it has affected every area of her life. At this point she will often move into the next stage—anger. She often feels anger at lost opportunities, looking back at the paths that she didn’t take. She focuses on the point at which things started to go off course and begins to feel anger at a system that let her down as a child.

She must be fooled by the bad boy persona. Maybe she has a sad homelife, restricted from doing things that make her happy, so she’s trying to find life and a thrill in someone dangerous. If only it means she feels a little less dead inside.

The reason that common AD/HD strategies alone don’t always work is because they usually focus on merely controlling the negative and difficult part of the AD/HD. You want to focus on supporting the new growth, not just taking care of the difficulties. As you grow and become more and more successful, you’ll constantly think of new ways to form cushions of support and structure underneath you. The emphasis should be on nourishing your successes, not just managing your deficits.

In the world we came from, our existence was so easy. And so full of discontent because it was so easy. How do you find meaning when you’re one of seven billion? When food, clothing, everything you need is just one Walmart away? When we numb our minds to sleep on all manner of screens and HD entertainment, the meaning of life.

When we numb our minds to sleep on all manner of screens and HD entertainment, the meaning of life, of our existence and purpose, becomes lost.

Did she ever make it out? Did she make it back to Layla and take her away to find a new life? A better life?

He invades my body like a parasite would, an unwelcome tenant that leeches from my life force to feed his own.

Her eyes nearly roll, and I’ve decided it’s my life’s mission to see that sight any chance I can get.

Seeing her connected to me is incredibly erotic and something I intend to see every goddamn day for the rest of my life.

I’ve never felt anything so fucking incredible in my life. She molds to my cock like wet clay.

my life is too uncertain not to do the things I truly want to do.

In another life, he’d fit right in with my henchmen. He’s beautiful and terrifying all in the same breath, inhaling terror and exhaling a haunting beauty.

He laughs heartily, enjoying the thought of an innocent woman being punished for something so trivial. The old fuck probably falls over once a week and needs LifeAlert to get back up.

I have no interest in collecting more than what’s necessary. Money is an illusion, and a powerful one. It turns men into spineless assholes with no real regard for human life except their own.

I thought of the three men in the meadow. None were what they seemed and I was in the arms of my worst enemy, taking comfort from him. Would my life ever be normal? “Normal is boring,” Mace said.

I will carve a garden of scars into your flesh, little mouse. Only my pain will bring them to life.” I tip my head back, groaning from the sharp bite of his knife. “They'll only ever grow beneath my touch.

Women with AD/HD often move away from relationships in the initial stages of forming friendships because of their difficulty in making small talk or difficulty with finding the words that they want to say when they want to say them. Sometimes it is as difficult to find the words in your messy mind as it is to find a paper on your messy desk. Kate Kelly and Peggy Ramundo (1995, pg. 66) call this a “reaction time irregularity” They go on to point out that a person with this difficulty might look rude or disinterested when they actually may be having “trouble retrieving things from memory in a demand situation”.

Many menopausal women are now being diagnosed with AD/HD for the first time because previously developed coping skills that hid the symptoms are compromised once the estrogen changes exacerbate the symptoms.

Your mom doesn’t hate you, Addie. She hates herself. And she doesn’t resent you because you’re not living the life she wanted for herself, she resents you because you were living the life you wanted, and she wasn’t.

I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks, who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering; which word is beautifully derived "from idle people who roved about the country, in the middle ages, and asked charity, under pretence of going à la sainte terre" — to the holy land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a sainte-terrer", a saunterer — a holy-lander. They who never go to the holy land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds, but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all, but the Saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the first, which indeed is the most probable derivation. For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit (1) in us, to go forth and reconquer this holy land from the hands of the Infidels.

Learning pressure points is the only thing I can thank Daddy for. He had a weird fascination with being able to debilitate or even kill someone with a single jab of his finger. All that power to ruin or end someone’s life in one small movement.

She wanted George with some uncorrelated sector of Her Gart, she wanted George to correlate for her, life here, there. She wanted George to define and to make definable a mirage, a reflection of some lost incarnation, a wood maniac, a tree demon, a neuropathic dendrophile...She wanted George to make the thing an integral, herself integrity. She wanted George to make one of his drastic statements that would dynamite her world away for her. She wanted this, but even as she wanted it she let herself sink further, further, she saw that her two hands reached toward George like the hands of a drowned girl. She knew she was not drowned. Where others would drown-lost, suffocated in this element-she knew that she lived. She had no complete right yet to this element, hands struggled to be pulled out. White hands waved above the water like sea spume or inland-growing pond flowers...She wanted George to pull her out, she wanted George to push her in, let Her be drowned utterly.

I don’t know if God really exists. I don’t know if mankind has ever walked on the moon. Nor do I know if parallel universes exist. But what I do know is that I just found the meaning of life sitting behind a table with an awkward smile on her face. A

Others may believe it is never okay to take a life under any circumstances. We are not the judge. At one point, I might have even believed that, too. But then I came face-to-face with true evil. People who are not human at all, but vile things that will continue to destroy this world and anything good that inhabits it. Now, I realize that choosing to look the other way and let God handle it is a fucking cop-out. It’s allowing evil to continue to live because they believe the afterlife is scarier.

In addition to beginning and maintaining relationships, many women have let established relationships slip away. Small occasions and important events with other people are missed: there are an increasing number of missed thank-you notes, missed birthdays, or invitations that are not reciprocated. The connections just aren’t kept up, and eventually they’re gone. They then anticipate scolding, rejection, or negative reactions when they think about trying to reconnect or rectify a situation, so they tend to avoid them altogether. While this may be true for everyone to some extent, women with AD/HD with particular histories or wounds are especially sensitive to and avoidant of this kind of potentially critical feedback further increasing the negative cycle.

Probably the most wasteful and pointless aspect of The Room’s production was Tommy’s decision to simultaneously shoot his movie with both a 35mm film camera and a high-definition (HD) camera. In 2002, an HD and 35mm film camera cost around $250,000 combined; the lenses ran from $20,000 to $40,000 apiece. And, of course, you had to hire an entirely different crew to operate this stuff. Tommy had a mount constructed that was able to accommodate both the 35mm camera and HD camera at the same time, meaning Tommy needed two different crews and two different lighting systems on set at all times. The film veterans on set had no idea why Tommy was doing this. Tommy was doing this because he wanted to be the first filmmaker to ever do so. He never stopped to ask himself why no one else had tried.

Women with AD/HD want to connect but because of their difficulties with executive functioning, they often develop emotional barriers. The combination of cognitive struggles and emotional barriers or the intersection of these makes them avoid relationships even more which decreases the likelihood of starting or maintaining relationships or of reconnecting after a break in the connection. Many fears, negative expectations, and much pain surround these areas. They key for these women to take stock of their barriers and make a plan to slowly start getting back on the road to relationships.

You’re scared, and I get that. You’ve been alone nearly your entire life and don’t know what it feels like to have someone take care of you. Fine, we can work through that.” Then, I lower my voice, ensuring she can see just how fucking serious I am. “But what I will not do is allow you to run from me.

You're scared, and I get that. You've been alone nearly your entire life and don't know what it feels like to have someone else care for you. Fine, we can work through that." Then, I lower my voice, ensuring she can see just how fucking serious I am. "But what I will not do is allow you to run from me.

I’ll never know the exact moment she took her last breath. I’ll never know why she chose to kill herself rather than running away with me. Or why death was more appealing than a life with me. But what hurt most is knowing that I spent the entire night staring at my mother’s dead body and never even realized it.

When the snow lifted and I was able to get my medication, I felt like the tin man in the Wizard of Oz in need of oil to begin moving again. Then as I began to write, my mind was much more fluid. I had the cognitive fuel to function. My brain was the same brain it was the day before, I had the same interest, motivation, ideas, and abilities, but without the medication, I just didn’t have the fuel to access those parts of me and use them. Even a luxury car like a Rolls Royce isn’t going anywhere without fuel. In the same way, medication for individuals with AD/HD is often the fuel that allows the brain to function smoothly and work to its potential.

The gut wrenching howling as they informed me, “dead on arrival. Baby could not survive outside her mother’s womb.” Every finite detail of the worst night of my life played through my mind in HD Technicolor. Somewhere in the haze between past and reality, I heard a soft voice. “Nik? Can you hear me? Come back, you’re scaring me,

Completing our tenure in one body, we enter another, just as one gives up worn clothes and puts on new ones [2.23]. Only an excessively fashion-conscious person anguishes over the loss of a mere shirt or dress. So in illusion, we lose ourselves in grief over the inevitable change of body, forgetting that the body merely garbs an eternal soul. The irony of mundane life is that for all our vanity, we drastically underestimate ourselves. We think ourselves mortal, when we are truly immortal. We endure painful limits to our knowledge and joy, yet as eternal parts of God, Kṛṣṇa, each one of us is entitled to innate and limitless awareness and joy. We need only claim them appropriately [6.20-22]

That journal saved my life, Molly. You saved my life, in a way.” She shows me her wrist, which is covered with a beautiful tattoo of roses trailing up her arm. “There used to be a barcode here, but I got it covered. It’s really small, but in one of the petals, I added your name. I carried you with me in that house, so I wanted it to be permanent, too.

You can't fix me," she finishes. "I don't want to fix you, Molly. There's nothing to mend when you've already done that yourself. The only thing I will do is ensure there isn't a single part of you that is empty. Your life, your heart, and your sweet pussy." I lean in closer until my lips lightly rest against hers. "Filling you will never be a waste of my time.

Did I say something wrong?” I ask. “No,” she says weakly. “You said everything right. You’re perfect.” “Why are you crying?” “Because I’ve waited my whole life for someone like you. And now I that I finally found it, I’m fucking terrified of losing it.” “I get it. That’s how I’ve felt for months now. But if I have anything to do with it, River, that won’t ever happen.

I hope they're happy. This world can be so cruel. So, I hope they're happy.” “Happiness is fleeting. All that matters is that they're living their life the way they want to.” “You believe that?” “Absolutely. It's not something solid you can hold on to. It's vapour in the wind, and all you can do is inhale it when it's near and hope it comes around again when it blows away.

As the non-AD/HD person continues on through life, the pieces continue to make sense. They don’t get A’s one day, and F’s the next; they aren’t called creative one day and lazy, unmotivated, and irresponsible the next. When people without these difficulties try to do something, their efforts usually pay off. In other words, there’s a direct relationship between the effort and the results.

Women with AD/HD also sometimes have difficulty with their relationships when invited to parties or family gatherings. Quite often they feel bombarded by too much stimulation, especially women without hyperactivity, and therefore withdraw, sometimes offending people without intending to as we discussed in earlier Chapter 9. They feel overloaded and exhausted, and they can’t keep up. They might have difficulty carrying on a good conversation, trying to think of what to say in the middle of so much activity. Many women with AD/HD mysteriously retreat to another room, become quiet, upset or withdrawn, or just don’t show up for these kinds of events. All these responses may give the message to others that you don’t care about them. They don’t know that you’re having a hard time or why.

Even today with most women working, even women without AD/HD have issues around money and taking care of their financial affairs. They aren’t as knowledgeable about financial matters as they’d like to be and often have control, power, and dependency issues. Combine this with AD/HD and feelings of being overwhelmed, and it creates an even greater tendency to shut down and tune out in this area.

Men like this, who have lived their lives so selfishly and with no regard for others’ lives, are always the most desperate to live forever. But they never understood that’s what makes them so goddamn weak. It’s the people who have no regard for their own life—people like me. We are the ones that are the deadliest. What’s stopping me from taking people down with me when I die? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

It was an awful word. Nothing. It made him sick at heart. He refused to believe it. Hebdemanded that there be something he could do. He demanded that his love be worth something to his child. If it wasn't, life was garbage. He hd to rulenout the idea that life was just a matter of accident, of percentages, because it was just too goddamn much to stand for. There had to be some way you could make yourself be felt.

My mom is all about being prim, proper, and classy. Enter beauty pageants, marry a rich man, and live lavishly. I think she just wanted me to have the life she couldn’t have, and when I did the opposite, she resented me for it.” “At least you'll end up marrying a rich man.” “Now I can never marry you. It's my life's purpose to disappoint her in every decision I make.” “Don't underestimate me, Addie. I'll become a poor man for you.

I found your old journal in Francesca’s house,” she explains. “The one you wrote in during your time there. It… Your words saved me in a way I can’t even express. They helped me get through the days there. I started writing in it after you. I still journal even now, all because of you.” “Oh, my God,” I breathe, still in utter shock. “You found it? I honestly had forgotten all about it…” “That journal saved my life, Molly. You saved my life, in a way.

Happiness is fleeting. All that matters is that they’re living their life the way they want to.” “You believe that?” I ask, facing him. “That happiness is fleeting?” He shrugs, tossing the last bite of his cone into his mouth, and chews as he contemplates something. “Absolutely,” he says finally. “It’s not something solid you can hold on to. It’s vapor in the wind, and all you can do is inhale it when it’s near and hope it comes around again when it blows away.

You’re right. I do love the sound of watching you for lifetimes.” I drop my voice low, as deep as I want to shove my cock inside her. “I also love the possibility that I have fallen in love with you in each life. Fucked that sweet pussy of yours and made you fall in love with me as much as I am with you. What did I tell you, little mouse? That you couldn’t escape me. If it’s real, then I’ve chased you across time and space, and you’ve never been able to get away.

In a sense, it seems I am drowning; already half-drowned to the ordinary dimensions of space and time, I know that I must drown, as it were, completely in order to come out on the other side of things (like Alice with her looking-glass or Perseus with his mirror). I must drown completely and come out on the other side, or rise to the surface after the third time down, not dead to this life but with a new set of values, my treasures dredged from the depth. I must be born again or break utterly.

At one point in our lives, we’re all afraid to die. For some, it happens the first moment we fully understand what death means—before depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues arise. For others, it’s before they’ve found something to believe in—whether it’s God or something else that’s spiritual. And there are those who flounder through life, terrified of the day they take their last breath. I think for some, they aren’t so much scared of death itself, but rather, how they’re going to die.

And for the second time in my life, I’m asking myself yet again—do you want to survive? Or do you want to waste away? But what is surviving without living, and what is death without pain? It’s an empty, cracked shell where a soul has been born and where that soul will die.  I no longer want to be that shell. I don’t want to just survive anymore—I want to live. And I won’t waste away, spending my days as a hollow being that awaits death like an old dog sitting on a doorstep, waiting for the day someone opens the door and invites him inside to stay.

You will never understand the impact you've had on my life, and I've been wanting to meet you for so long." I blink, bewildered. "I found your old journal in Francesca's house," she explains. "The one you wrote in during your time there. It... Your words saved me in a way I can't even express. They helped me get through the days there. I started writing in it after you. I still journal even now, because of you." "Oh, my God," I breathe, still in utter shock. "You found it? I honestly had forgotten all about it..." "That journal saved my life, Molly. You saved me life, in a way.

Hue-Man Nature If anyone forgot to tell you, you're magical. With skin that reflects, absorbs, and rejoices in the sun oh how lucky must you be to have had your spirit framed and encased in LIGHT skin. You beautiful Hue-man you...some would even say your super powers are sun-activated. Just Look at you majestically Being. You really just going to be out here living in HD huh? You are so damn dope for that! Actually, everything about you is Super...even radiant. And just in case you were ever feeling anything less, this is your reminder that you were created to be nothing less than MAGICAL.

Women with AD/HD often feel that despite years of trying to keep their heads above water that they are sinking deeper and deeper and are feeling more trapped and helpless. Many women with undiagnosed AD/HD are unable to explain or have anyone else help them understand their experience. It may be incomprehensible for others to believe that a seemingly successful woman, or a woman who has never been hyperactive, may have AD/HD. Instead, she may be written off as having typical “female emotional problems” or serious psychological disturbances. The greater her outward signs of success, the more baffling it is to those around her. And if she has been visibly struggling, it just reconfirms other people’s opinions that she is indeed weak, incompetent, or helpless.

Over the seven years that I chipped away at this topic, I found hoarding to be a historically intricate lattice of worry about the unsuitable roles that household furnishings, mass-produced whatnots, curiosa, keepsakes, and clutter play in our daily lives. The majority of these apprehensions over the stuff of normal life originated in the twentieth century, and they are not so far removed from other cultural anxieties. As much as a hoard might be about depression and impulsivity and loss and misplaced stacks of paper, it is also about fears of working-class blacks in 1930s Harlem, post-1960s New Christian Right literatures, and emerging models of appropriate aging in the 1940s and 1950s. Though neglected in the current rhetoric of chronic savers, these unlikely sources each fed into definitions of HD.

My love for you", I whispered, "may very well be the greatest thing that this world has ever known, and because of it, the story of my life will be eternally beautiful.

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Zade is Hades, stepping out from the underworld and wreaking havoc on my quiet little life. The wicked scar cutting through his nearly-white eye, with his other nearly-black eye is a combination that could only be forged in Hell.

She became an inoperable brain tumor that plagues every waking moment of my life. Sometimes it feels like if I tried to cut her out of me anyways, I wouldn’t survive it.

And it allows me to dedicate my life to ending human trafficking.

Such a gentleman, letting me look at the stars as you murder me,” I mouth off, forcing the words through my tightened throat. I really need to shut the fuck up. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Apparently, when I’m in a life-threatening situation, all I can manage to do is make it worse. Some might call it fearlessness, but I just call it stupidity.

The unpredictable abuse is still predictable, and that can be a little less scary than trying to rebuild a life on your own with the constant fear that this person will come after you and snatch it away. All that hard work—gone. And sometimes your life, too.

We’ll cross paths again, Sawyer. Life has a funny way of throwing people into your path when you’re meant to collide. It’s up to you to choose to make it permanent.

He stalks people for a living, so I suppose it’s no surprise that tendency has bled into his love life.

I've always wondered why we defend our weaknesses and slight our greatness. We never try 'hard enough' and even prevent our friends and family from trying to achieve their greatness by doubting and laughing at their dreams and ambitions, yet complain about the world being unfair for us. What kind of mental illness is this, and why has it become normal, so that we can't even recognize it?

You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

You think you’re only going to beg because you’re fighting for your life, but that’s where you’re wrong. The only way I’ll be sending you to heaven is with my cock.

My mother is a bitch. Plain and simple. She’s always had a chip on her shoulder, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

My mother is gaping at me as if I’ve told her I’m shaving my head bald and going to live the rest of my life in a van and smoking hookah.