Heartwarming Quotes

You can talk with someone for years, everyday, and still, it won't mean as much as what you can have when you sit in front of someone, not saying a word, yet you feel that person with your heart, you feel like you have known the person for forever.... connections are made with the heart, not the tongue.

People, generally, suck.

A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back into the sky. And it's the most painful thing you'll ever have to do and that you've ever done. But what's yours is yours. Whether it’s up in the sky or here in your hands. And one day, it'll fall from the sky and hit you in the head real hard and that time, you won't have to put it back in the sky again.

She didn't belong anywhere and she never really belonged to anyone. And everyone else belonged somewhere and to someone. People thought she was too wonderful. But she only wanted to belong to someone. People always thought she was too wonderful to belong to them or that something too wonderful would hurt too much to lose. And that's why she liked him-- because he just thought she was crazy.

His lips soften into a smile that cracks apart my spine. He repeats my name like the word amuses him. Entertains him. Delights him. In seventeen years no one has said my name like that

You speak rabbit?” asked Princess Sophie. “Of course,” said Lady Ariana. “And cat, dog, mouse, pig, and chicken. Fish, too. I am a magician, after all.

‎"What does it mean if i'm afraid? Does it mean something bad is going to happen?" "No, it doesn't mean something bad is going to happen. It just means that you have the chance to be brave.

It had been so good to see his enemy again. Positively heartwarming. Hallmark really needed to start up a line of revenge cards, the kind that let you reach out to those you were going to come after with a vengeance. - Lash

Just a middle-age man with all the privilege that unasked for gift affords. When in truth it seems, we see suffering as the province of children, mothers, wives and lovers. Broken, struck by the hand of a man’s blind ambition, brutish strength. What of the gentle-man with the soft voice…

At least I don't look like a Christmas tree." "You look like the star atop the tree.

You're where I want to be.

I hope these words will be of some help and comfort to those who read them. Nobody knows when they will be tested and there are no right or wrong answers, we are all of us lost when tragedy comes to call. All we can ever do is to be there, give love and do the best we can, often that is all it needs.

Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.

Are you sure this will work?” asked Princess Sophie as she was pulling the cart away from Lady Ariana’s cottage. “If you believe, it will work,” said Lady Ariana.

Time was being stripped from her one second at a time.

I have a dream.” “Is your dream very big?” “No.” “Well is it very grand?” “Not either.” “Neither?” “Neither.” “What is it then?” “It is very shiny.

None of the other kids my age has to do all the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and bill paying. It’s just not fair that I have to be an adult when I’m still a kid.

‎"You shouldn't feel so bad about being afraid of so many things." "Why not?" "Because if you weren't afraid never ever, then you couldn't be brave never ever.

Acheron always says that our scars are there to remind us of out pasts, of where we've been and what we've gone through. But that pain doesn't have to drive or determine our future. We can rise about it if we let ourselves. It's not easy, but nothing in life ever is." -Sundown

She had a flower tattoo on her wrist; "What does that mean?" he asked her. "Absolutely nothing," she said, "it's just a flower.

I HOLD If I could have had him, I could have let him go. But without the having there was nothing— so to the nothing I hold.

Your confidence in me is heartwarming. Makes me want to return all the money I stole from the little old ladies and kick the heroin.

No one knows why, but second only to eating the brains of the living, the dead love affordable prefab furniture.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, the kind of mess that looked accidental but somehow perfect.

Life is messy. Would that every puzzle piece fell into place, every word was kind, every accident happy, but such is not the case. Life is messy

All four of us gasped at the same time—the tree reached the ceiling and curled down at least a foot! What were we to do now?

I found it interesting when, after the program, both Mrs. Rath and Mrs. Walker mentioned how nice it was to see Ira attending school and community events again.

The weather was as ready as the school and campus. The sky was cloudless and the temperature was expected to top out at 76 degrees. Early morning mowers had sugared the air with the fragrance of freshly mowed grass.

No. You no can die. You are friend.

Ryan has this blank, way too innocent expression. "Don't worry, Mr. Risk. I'd love to help Elisabeth." He turns to me and smiles. This smile isn't genuine or heartwarming, but cocky as hell. Bring it, jock boy. Your best won't be good enough.

I won’t lie, it scares the dickens out of me to be outside when the lightning starts flashing its light-up-the-sky daggers,

It was almost 3 a.m. before Connie got into bed. Sipping cocoa in the cold daylight and listening to the silence, only punctuated by the distant barking of dogs, she began to wonder what she had done. What if she had made a disastrous mistake?

He had a peanut the shape of a peanut on his back too and so was nutty through and through.

Good grief,” he muttered. “Good thing this bed ain’t any bigger, or next thing a guy knows, you’ll be bringing in Betsy-Lou to bunk with us too!

Dear Lord! I can’t wait to tell Mom and Cho I brought my lunch in a saddlebag and shared my sandwich and cookies with a den of rattlesnakes!

The Lord will provide.

I felt calm well, maybe not calm but safe. For the first time during a Montana thunderstorm, I did feel safe.

the next obvious question that lay lurking like a black storm cloud over my head: If I wasn’t to live with the Jeongs, then where would I go? And with whom?

Sometimes the smallest distance between two people is the hardest to cross.

The sun warms my heart and soul with its rays of divine love.

Life can be hard and cruel sometimes,

If you ever get lost, you can get your bearings and find your way home. Just remember to find Buffalo Butte and head toward that.

Maybe, I thought, just maybe he’s starting to get used to having me around.

I was scared to death of these chickens, but I tried not to let Ira know that.

I had a little help from my Glimmers.

Connie followed the tracks of Daisy’s skidoo, passing giant, rosy pink mountains of snow which cast long grey shadows over the ground ahead of them. The sheer vastness of this multicoloured wilderness was hard to comprehend, and Connie was aware of herself and Daisy, speeding along, mere specks in the landscape.

Try not to worry, honey. We’ll take very good care of Dimwit, and I have a good feeling that we’ll be calling you to come pick him up in no time. In the meantime, I’ll call you every evening with a report on how he’s doing.

‎"What does it mean if you tried to get somewhere, and you didn't?" "Like what?" "Like if you were trying to get somewhere, but you couldn't find it? Does that mean something bad?" "No. It doesn't mean something bad. It just means you have a second chance to do it. And two chances is always better than just one.

He has the attention span of a hummingbird.

The light inside houses was always so golden yellow. Oswald wondered if humans saved up sunshine and piped it through their lamps.

Get up, go out into the world, and do awesome shit.

A strange, warm feeling swirled in my chest, and for a brief moment, when I looked at him, I saw...safety

Always. You fall, I pick you up. Always.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

It takes a well-adjusted animal to know when to ask for help

If you think anyone is sane you just don’t know enough about them. The key — and this is very relevant in our case — is to find someone whose insanity dovetails with your own.

How lovely. He’d forgotten how magical the Edwardses’ garden was, an oasis of green paths, flowering bushes, and jasmine-covered archways.

Well they're pissed off and they're hungry. I was kind of busy trying not to get my brains eaten. They seemed pretty adamant about the brain-eating thing. Then they're going to IKEA, I guess

It seemed to cast a spell on her as all her earlier despair disappeared and as she went back inside she was filled with hope.

My dearest Pudding pie" I read aloud. "Yes, my little turnip?" "Hilarious," I muttered. "If you ever call me anything of the sort again we shall have words.

Ben leaned back slightly, studying her with that same unreadable calm. “I looked into you, you know. Not the name you gave. The real one.” Jane sat up slowly, her wine glass balanced loosely in one hand. The water had gone too still, as if something just below the surface had pressed pause.

Maybe you should go home and rest," Simon told Meg. Maybe he could go home with her and they could cuddle for a while or play a game. Or she could watch a movie with him and pet him.

We know there's going to be nothing but pain, but we go back again and again.

Hope is merely another face of desire. And desire is a motherfucker.

Where are you?" he asked. "I'm right here" she said. "I know, but it feels like one percent of you is somewhere else, where is that one percent?" he said. "I don't know....I think I'm always like that..." she answered. "I like that." "You do?" "Yes, because that way, I have to always look for the one percent to find it.

The Velveteen Rabbit By Margery Williams

Your concern for my well-being is truly heartwarming,

You were supposed to empathize with your friend's problem, but they were, after all, your friend's problems...

I have always been a softie, and I fight it with every fiber of my being. Sadly, my being's fibers need to hit the gym.

A POCKET-SIZED GIRL He keeps me in his pocket for a rainy day; he swears I'm not an object as he yo-yo's me away. A friend is what we'll call it, but my friend, he does not know, each time it rains I love him— so to his pocket, I must go. He thinks he's being clever, but I am not a fool; his love ain't worth a penny, so to my heart I must be cruel.

As I prepared for Christmas one year, a thought came to me: “Why a baby?” It rolled around and around for days. I don’t just accept the pat story I’ve heard year after year. I like to go deeper—see it from a different perspective.

MY MOON I'll always wonder what time it is there; if you're dreaming, or awake. My moon is your sun; my darkness, your light. I'm in the future, you'd jokingly say. And I know where you are, because I'm watching you from the past.

They loved me, taught me,
and encouraged me.
A safe place to be on Sunday morning,  and a nice place to meet God.

Because we didn’t have a lot of money, presents were few and heartfelt. I wrote letters to Santa and dreamed about my gifts, looked at the Sears & Roebuck or Monkey Ward catalog and dog-eared pages so I could revisit them often.

A traditional New Mexico Christmas differs from the rest of the world with four amazing traditions: tamales, bisochitos, empanadas, and luminarias. The first three Mexican specialties add delicious flavor to any meal, and the last one lights up our towns!

Theophilus Crowe's mobile phone played eight bars of "Tangled Up in Blue" in an irritating electronic voice that sounded like a choir of suffering houseflies, or Jiminy Cricket huffing helium, or, well, you know, Bob Dylan.

In my country childhood, we had many Christmas traditions: the fun and adventure of cutting down a tree from our ranch, hilarious Christmas programs at the church and school, and fun-filled caroling around our small town. Our family dominated this holiday’s focus.

And she kept following the truck, like we were a very small parade, waving and waving, until Frank took the curve in the road and then she was gone.

True beauty is a warm heart, a kind soul, and an attentive ear.

Give up on your dreams and die. [―Levi Ackerman]

I visualize myself winning the Olympic Pentathlon, inventing a phone that can be controlled by brain waves, or doing the laundry. I do not actually DO these things, but I see myself doing them, and that is almost MORE satisfying, because I am also lying down.

The child in me remembers all those great Christmases and the anticipation. It was the anticipation that grabbed me —waiting, waiting, waiting! And wondering if my dream would come true!

Just because he was pretty didn't mean he couldn't be improved by a smack upside the head with a piece of earnest hickory

My love for Christmas Eve goes way back to those big gatherings at my grandparents’ house, the focus on Santa Claus and childhood joy. As the years unfolded, I've moved to and visited different cities during the holidays, so my celebration of Christmas Eve took on multiple denominational tones and the focus became the Christ child.

Author's Warning If you're buying this book as a gift for your grandma or a kid, you should be aware that it contains cusswords as well as tasteful depictions of cannibalism and people in their forties having sex. Don't blame me. I told you.

As a child, we put up our live piñon pine tree we’d cut down from our ranch around December 10th. As a family, we hunted for deer in October, walking the canyons and eyeing any future Christmas tree—big for me, my brother, and my dad; small for my mom—and scoping them out.

And in the quiet, as she carefully outlined her yellow star in gold, I got this feeling I've never felt with anyone. That I had all the time in the world. I didn't have to rush to tell her anything, we could just be.

I knew it was cold, but singing familiar Christmas songs and the fellowship warmed me through and through—until we stopped in front of a bank and saw the temperature on its marquee: six degrees below zero!

This is a simple study. Yet, you can use this book to see deeper into the personality of God. I find it heartwarming that God was like a concerned parent who continuously moved the dialogue forward. Notice that Jonah was like a rebellious and headstrong son committing an idolatry of law over justice.

Thousands of miles from all the people closest to me, this stranger became my mother, my father, and my family attending to me like a lost child in her village, with the ease and comfort a grandmother would show to her loved ones. All without us exchanging a single word.

George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her. Before she could speak, almost before she could feel, a voice called 'Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!' The silence of life had been broken by Miss Bartlett, who stood brown against the view.

However, amidst the bouquets of laughter that people tried to gift me, there was that memory of yours, lips curled up in a fashion, which makes my heart skip a beat even now. And then the happiness felt incomplete, because I missed you, missed you everyday more than the previous day.

I concede that a bad romantic novel is embarrassing and indefensible. So is a bad so-called realistic novel. (And it is usually pretentious into the bargain which is insufferable.) But a good romantic novel is a heart-warming thing which strikes a responsive chord in those who are happy and offers a certain lifting of the spirits to those who are not.

Every woman deserves to be handled like a princess, She just needs to find her prince.

Christmas Amnesty. You can fall out of contact with a friend, fail to return calls, ignore e-mails, avoid eye contact at the Thrifty-Mart, forget birthdays, anniversaries, and reunions, and if you show up at their house during the holidays (with a gift) they are socially bound to forgive you—act like nothing happened. Decorum dictates that the friendship move forward from that point, without guilt or recrimination. If you started a chess game ten years ago in October, you need only remember whose move it is—or why you sold the chessboard and bought an Xbox in the interim. (Look, Christmas Amnesty is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a dimensional shift. The laws of time and space continue to apply, even if you have been avoiding your friends. But don’t try using the expansion of the universe an as excuse—like you kept meaning to stop by, but their house kept getting farther away. That crap won’t wash. Just say, “Sorry I haven’t called. Merry Christmas” Then show the present. Christmas Amnesty protocol dictates that your friend say, “That’s okay,” and let you in without further comment. This is the way it has always been done.)

Then the musical instruments appeared. Dad’s snare drum from the house, Henry’s guitar from his car, Adam’s spare guitar from my room. Everyone was jamming together, singing songs: Dad’s songs, Adam’s songs, old Clash songs, old Wipers songs. Teddy was dancing around, the blond of his hair reflecting the golden flames. I remember watching it all and getting that tickling in my chest and thinking to myself: This is what happiness feels like.

And all the spaces of our past moments of solitude, the spaces in which we have suffered from solitude, enjoyed, desired, and compromised solitude, remain indelible within us and precisely because the human being wants them to remain so. He knows instinctively that this space identified with his solitude is creative; that even when it is forever expunged from the present, when, henceforth, it is alien to all the promises of the future, even when we no longer have a garret, when the attic room is lost and gone, there remains the fact that we once loved a garret, once lived in an attic. We return to them in our night dreams. These retreats have the value of a shell. And when we reach the very end of the labyrinths of sleep, when we attain to the regions of deep slumber, we may perhaps experience a type of repose that is pre-human; pre-human, in this case, approaching the immemorial. But in the daydream itself, the recollection of moments of confined, simple, shut-in space are experiences of heartwarming space, of a space that does not seek to become extended, but would like above all still to be possessed. In the past, the attic may have seemed too small, it may have seemed cold in winter and hot in summer. Now, however, in memory recaptured through daydreams, it is hard to say through what syncretism the attic is at once small and large, warm and cool, always comforting.

And today is really the happiest day of your life, because today you woke up and stumbled across the shadow of your soul in broad daylight." From Central Park Song: a Screenplay

It's funny how "a part" and "apart" are complete opposites, yet only differ by a little space.

Let the park live in you until it sings you a song.

Nativity sets, trees, lights—what’s your favorite Christmas decoration? Mine is my Nativity set buffet in my home.

I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.

So we wait?” asked Severard. “We wait, and we look to our defences. That and we try to find some money. Do you have any cash, Severard?” “I did have some. I gave it to a girl, down in the slums.” “Ah. Shame.” “Not really, she fucks like a madman. I’d thoroughly recommend her, if you’re interested.” Glokta winced as his knee clicked. “What a thoroughly heartwarming tale, Severard, I never had you down for a romantic. I’d sing a ballad if I wasn’t so short of funds.” “I could ask around. How much are we talking about?” “Oh, not much. Say, half a million marks?” One of the Practical’s eyebrows went up sharply. He reached into his pocket, dug around for a moment, pulled his hand out and opened it. A few copper coins shone in his palm. “Twelve bits,” he said. “Twelve bits is all I can raise.

Henry lifted his head and looked directly at me. I froze where I stood, feeling as if he had just told me a secret with that look. It was new . It was a question and a statement and a quick, hidden secret all at once..

I love making homemade Christmas decorations and gifts. As I set out the decorations I’ve made, I get nostalgic remembering sitting at the table so long ago and making them. With each stitch I knit or photo I place, I have the joy of thinking about the gift and the person I made it for.

The bat was looking at Theo and Theo was having trouble following his own thoughts.The bat was wearing tiny sunglasses.Ray Bans,Theo could see by the trademark in the corner of one lens."I'm sorry, Mr.,uh- Case, could you take the bat off your head.It's very distracting." Him." Pardon?" It's a him.Roberto.He no like the light.

Hope is merely another face of desire.

Your quirks are the colors that paint our love story with unique and vibrant hues.

The thing about broken hearts is, unlike a broken bone it doesn't get the time and attention it needs to heal. It goes undetected by the naked eye, so no one really knows the pain you are feeling inside.

As a child, we sang those precious songs at church and school. At home, we sang along with the singers on the Lawrence Welk Christmas show, and there used to be so many Christmas specials—Andy Williams and Perry Como. I loved the bouncing ball on the Mitch Miller sing-along show. And of course, we watched “The Ed Sullivan Show” weekly and loved his Christmas special. I never grew tired of them.

I know you’re strong and so resilient it’s fucking unbelievable, but you don’t have to always be strong with me. It’s okay to not be okay when you’re with me,

Because a rebel is just a guy who doesn’t have the good sense to go the same way the crowd is going, and the composure to act like that was his idea all along.

The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye , but found by the heart

Your puny worm god weapons are useless against my superior Christmas Kung Fu.

I’d really rather have the baby, pal.

There's something about being told you're worthy from another person that feels better than when you tell yourself in a mirror.

There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat

The same philantropists who give millions for AIDS or education in tolerance have ruined the lives of thousands through financial speculation and thus created the conditions for the rise of the very intolerance that is being fought. In the 1960s and '70s it was possible to buy soft-porn postcards of a girl clad in a bikini or wearing an evening gown; however, when one moved the postcard a little bit or looked at it from a slightly different perspective, her clothes magically disappeared to reveal the girl's naked body. When we are bombarded by the heartwarming news of a debt cancellation or a big humanitarian campaign to eradicate a dangerous epidemic, just move the postcard a little to catch a glimpse of the obscene figure of the liberal communist at work beneath.

Every year, Grandma Dickerson, my mom’s mother, made all the traditional sweets for Christmas time, but she made something not exactly “Christmasy” that became my favorite. Popcorn balls. She always prepared all those goodies before we arrived, so I never got to make them with her, and I never found out how she made them.

Find a partner where both of you can’t wait for the other to wake up in the morning. Relationships like this make a morning cup of coffee special, heartwarming and to the point of excitement.

No matter how often you're being a pain in my ass mengingat begitu banyaknya kejadian saat lo menjadi sumber dari segala sumber masalah yang membuat gue merasa mungkin nama tengah lo bukan Adrianissa tapi 'trouble', you know you are THAT worthy, Dyt.

Some kindnesses you do not ever forget. You carry them to your grave, held warmly somewhere, brought up and savored from time to time.

You’re awfully strange.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Thank you. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re awfully strange too, Wallace Price.

When your heart is aching, a warm cooked meal is the best medicine.

In the sea of life, you are my lighthouse, guiding me safely to the shore of your love.

When you touch a man’s body, he will enjoy the moment; when you touch a man’s heart, he will remember it forever.

Sometimes the best thing in life is finding that one person who knows all your mistakes and weaknesses and still thinks you’re completely amazing.

I have missed you. And I did not know anything was missing.

A WISH Sometimes I wish that he will live and I will see him. But mostly I wish that he will die, and take my memories with him.

What is your heart worth to you? The answer is ‘everything’. Our hearts are worth the World.

He had risked his freedom and his pride to buy her this, to acknowledge that part of her that everyone else seemed to want to get rid of.

In the grim darkness of the far future there is more than war. There are real people there too.

The actionable items were intangible (no, Belen said repeatedly, actually it was very simple, all you had to do was hold corporations responsible for their emissions, but for whatever reason her voice seemed to get drowned out by something, usually heartwarming ads where oil was being cleaned off of ducks with Very Effective dish soap). And also, they noted with importance, where were they supposed to get the money? Belen said wealth tax, and the wealthy said hm sorry what?

I could cease to be a Grey and take the name of my mother should have had before she was married. I could be a Starkweather. I could have a true Shadowhunter name." "Ofcourse you can have a true Shadowhunter name", Will said. "You can have mine.

A bra was not for little kids who dreamed of being astronauts. What are you gonna do with boobs in space? Unless they are currency for some far-flung civilization, all they’re going to do is interfere with proper oxygen flow inside your space suit.

This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt that they are not good enough. I want you to know that you are enough. A thousand times enough, and you will find someone who will love you; all of you, for all that you are.

7am They said that I’d forget you, and I knew it wasn’t true. But sometimes I wake up now, and my heart’s no longer blue. I press the Keurig button, dancing across the room— Sometimes it’s nearly seven, before I’ve thought of you. And though we sleep together, all night side by side, one day I’ll have my coffee without you in my mind.

When people visit my farm they often envision their dog, finally off-leash in acres of safely fenced countryside, running like Lassie in a television show, leaping over fallen tree trunks, shiny-eyed with joy at the change to run free in the country. While they're imagining that heartwarming scene, their dog is most likely gobbling up sheep poop as fast as he can. Dog aren't people, and if they have their own image of heaven, it most likely involves poop.

Our shared laughter has etched lines on our faces, each one a testament to the joy we've found together.

I wish I knew how to get you back. And apparently fate won't let me give up" From Central Park Song: a Screenplay

It's me, Lily. It's us. There's nothing to be embarrased about.

Yeah, and don't think it's easy finding Ray-Bans in a fruit-bat medium.

Life sometimes sends out previews - but It never reveals the Surprise Ending.

It's not how long you see something. It's how you intensely you feel it" From Central Park Song: a Screenplay

He took of my top and I took of his clothes. I even took of my bra. Then he put his thingie in my you-know-what and we had sex for the first time.

In another Christmas story, Dale Pearson, evil developer, self-absorbed woman hater, and seemingly unredeemable curmudgeon, might be visited in the night by a series of ghosts who, by showing him bleak visions of Christmas future, past, and present, would bring about in him a change to generosity, kindness, and a general warmth toward his fellow man. But this is not that kind of Christmas story, so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That's the spirit of Christmas yet to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho.

An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.”—BUDDHA “Mean girls suck.”—AISHA TYLER

The night garden felt like a home, with the glittering sky for the ceiling, the bushes our rug, and the dilapidated pavilion our bed. He lit up the place like a heart-warming hearth fire. He was the walls of my sanctuary, the food for my eyes, the scent of a home. He was everything.

WORTHY If you ever decide to feel— feel this: I love you. I always have. I always will. Not because you're charming, beautiful or lovable. But because I choose you. Everyday I wake up and I choose you— again, and again, and again. But if you cannot feel, and if you never feel this, then know: I do not love you. I never have. I never will. Because you're not worth my love. (Come back my love, I am drowning.)

One of the dictums that defines our culture is that we can be anything we want to be – to win the neoliberal game we just have to dream, to put our minds to it, to want it badly enough. This message leaks out to us from seemingly everywhere in our environment: at the cinema, in heart-warming and inspiring stories we read in the news and social media, in advertising, in self-help books, in the classroom, on television. We internalize it, incorporating it into our sense of self. But it’s not true. It is, in fact, the dark lie at the heart of the age of perfectionism. It’s the cause, I believe, of an incalculable quotient of misery. Here’s the truth that no million-selling self-help book, famous motivational speaker, happiness guru or blockbusting Hollywood screenwriter seems to want you to know. You’re limited. Imperfect. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

I cried, sitting by her bed, and I told her the story of us. “It’s about the feed,” I said. “It’s about this meg normal guy, who doesn’t think about anything until one wacky day, when he meets a dissident with a heart of gold.” I said, “Set against the backdrop of America in its final days, it’s the high-spirited story of their love together, it’s laugh-out-loud funny, really heartwarming, and a visual feast.” I picked up her hand and held it to my lips. I whispered to her fingers. “Together, the two crazy kids grow, have madcap escapades, and learn an important lesson about love. They learn to resist the feed. Rated PG-13. For language,” I whispered, “and mild sexual situations.

Dealing with mental health can be lonely and scary and unfortunately there is still so much stigma around mental health which makes getting help even more difficult. That's why I want you to know that you have nothing to be ashamed of. Accepting help and treatment doesn't make you weak, it makes you strong and brave. Visit the resources I have listed for you below. It may feel scary and intimidating at first, especially if you have never done it before. But prioritizing your health is of utmost value. You are important and you deserve to feel loved and happy. You are not alone.

Everyone says that love requires the utmost honesty, but that’s not entirely true. Once I knew that my father was suffering for my sake—really suffering—I learned that love, especially the parental kind, requires the heartwarming sacrifice that can only accompany fake enthusiasm.

you can be my entire world.. if you want to

Love is a journey that always feels like home.

Serius, Dyt? Kamu nunggu apa lagi? Kalau dia cukup peduli untuk membantu tanpa perlu kamu minta, he seems worthy enough to be chased.

If you haven't noticed yet, working sucks. Unless you are a racecar driver or an astronaut or Beyonce, working is completely and utterly devoid of awesome. It is hard, it lasts all day, the lighting is generally fluorescent, and, apparently, drinking at your desk is frowned upon. If you ever needed to ruin someone's fun, I mean really poop a party, just move things to the workplace. Fun terminated.

Winter denial: therein lay the key to California Schadenfreude--the secret joy that the rest of the country feels at the misfortune of California. The country said: "Look at them, with their fitness and their tans, their beaches and their movie stars, their Silicon Valley and silicone breasts, their orange bridge and their palm trees. God, I hate those smug, sunshiny bastards!" Because if you're up to your navel in a snowdrift in Ohio, nothing warms your heart like the sight of California on fire. If you're shoveling silt out of your basement in the Fargo flood zone, nothing brightens your day like watching a Malibu mansion tumbling down a cliff into the sea. And if a tornado just peppered the land around your Oklahoma town with random trailer trash and redneck nuggets, then you can find a quantum of solace in the fact that the earth actually opened up in the San Fernando Valley and swallowed a whole caravan of commuting SUVs.

Real success and accomplishment, at whatever it is you are passionate about, requires real work. Real sacrifice. Real disappointment. Real failure. And it requires the ability to scrape your sorry ass up off the floor, stumble to your feet, wipe the rivulets of watery drool from your face, and do it again, like an obstinate toddler running against the wall with his head in a bucket.

Can I tell you what I think?” She nods. “You have a strong sense of loyalty to your friends and family and that’s why you’re very hurt when you’re let down. You give out love and rightfully expect back the same love in return. But that’s not because you are sensitive, it’s because you have a big heart so when you love someone, you give them all of you and it hurts if they don’t do the same.

How can you not tweet? How else will people know what you ate for breakfast or what you are listening to on Spotify or what your gamerscore is? Ridiculous. Not tweeting is not an option. I am a dolt for even suggesting it.

I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces.

We went on the bed and started making out naked and then he put his boy’s thingy in mine and we HAD SEX.

That was supposed to be the whole purpose of the Internet, you know. To share scientific information." "Not a Viagra- and porn-delivery system?

The Internet is where stupid goes to find stupider so it doesn’t have to feel so stupid.

I don't know about homeless, but I'm never going to let you be hopeless. Or loveless. To be heartless however, well, that is your choice to make.

We all look back at some time or other and wonder why we didn't listen to our instincts. Why did we hestiate? Why did we lose our dreams?

The most important thing is to be whatever you are without shame.

No wonder Satan wants to convince us that we are weak, because once a believer finds strength in prayer, the game is over for Satan.

I've heard that there are two things that a person simply cannot hide. Sneezes and love.. But it looks like there's a person who never knows unless you tell them.

If you want to forget something, never hate it. Everything that you hate is engraved upon your heart,if you want to let go of something, you cannot hate.

It isn’t courageous to do the right thing.

So whoever planted that tree, they must have known that they were going to have to wait years-decades-before they could sit under it and enjoy its shade. Maybe they never got to. Maybe they planted it, hoping that their kids or their grandkids, or even complete strangers, generations away, would be able to sit under the boughs of that tree and that maybe someone would spare a moment of gratitude for the person who had the foresight to plant a little sapling in the first place.

It’s so peaceful. I could go to sleep in here.” His eyes flickered to me once more, and for a dizzying second I wasn’t thinking about sleep or storms but about pressing my lips to his. I gave my head a slight shake and tried to slow my pulse

Now this girl was about twenty-one years old. A sweet little coed. Spends a night with a married man. Goes home the next day and tells her mama and daddy. Don’t ask me why. Maybe just to rub their faces in it. They decide she needs a lesson. Whole family drives out into the desert, right out to that spot we just passed. All three of them plus the girl’s pet dog. Papa tells the girl to dig a shallow grave. Mama gets down on her hands and knees and holds the dog by the collar. When the girl is all through digging, papa gives her a .22 caliber revolver and tells her to shoot the dog. A real touching family scene. Make a good calendar for some religious group to give away. The girl puts the weapon to her temple and kills herself. Now isn’t that a heartwarming story? Restores my faith in just about everything.

But you never know what you can create if you put your heart into it unreservedly, and never let anyone else make you feel as if you don’t belong. Because a rebel is just a guy who doesn’t have the good sense to go the same way the crowd is going, and the composure to act like that was his idea all along.

I was not a cute teenager. I was not graceful, bubbly, or precocious. I did not cheerlead, work on the yearbook, organize spirit rallies, or plan dance-offs between opposing gangs of sexy brooding outsiders.

My personal theory is that one of you, me, is always faulty, like a toy purchased without the batteries. It is not until you have had time to go out and buy batteries, to put them in, to turn it on, that you realise it doesn't work the way that you wanted. Doesn't match what you hoped for. It never did. I am a bright, broken thing that he lost the receipt for.

It’s the memories that we yearn for & cherish – not the relationship or person when sadness engulfs our heart and makes us go through the whole storyline again and again and again and again. Those memories are not even real. They are an idea of the memory formed that day – gorgeous and heartwarming – but it wasn’t always that. Was it?

I bow my head under her hands. “I couldn’t do it anymore, Teta.” “My storm of the storms.” She tips the top of my head toward her and kisses it. “You never had to try.

Mrs. Charteris used to say that if we spent our spare time growing flowers instead of talking a lot of nonsense, the world would be a happier place...

In love, every day is a new adventure, every moment a cherished memory.

True happiness is found in the simple moments we share, where laughter comes easy and worries fade away.

Fermium was discovered unexpectedly along with Einsteinium in debris from the first hydrogen bomb test, codenamed ‘Mike’, which took place in the Pacific on October 31, 1952. The debris was collected on filter papers attached to drone airplanes that flew through the explosion area. Later, to obtain more material, many hundreds of pounds of coral from the blast area were examined.

Young people are swaddled in delusion. You think you are more awesome than you are, the world more interested in you than it is, your countenance more dazzling, your ideas more captivating, and that LeBron James was just a natural talent recruited from a neighborhood pickup game. You don’t want to practice, you don’t see the value in sacrifice, and you are convinced there is some vast comedy conspiracy to keep you from buying your first Bentley and dating a model by the time you are twenty-five. Wow. You are a douche.

Although it should be avoided, you can break promises to people if you have to—because you can explain circumstances and make reasonable justifications and compromises with people. Dogs take you at your word—that’s a lot to live up to—and I, for one, do not want to be the kind of person who reneges on a good-faith deal with a dog.

I believe fully that if you want to do something, you just go do it. You can sit around, think about it, waiting until things are perfect, wringing your hands, dithering and hesitating and slowly twisting your panties into a perfect little fisherman’s knot. Or you can get up off your lazy fucking ass and do something. What’s the worst that can happen?

doesn’t teach. Winning rewards. You can only really learn from failure. And in the end, after you have taken a prolonged physical and psychological beating that would destroy a lesser man or woman, you will understand that success is not the absence of failure, but rather the presence of not quitting when you do fail. To win, you need to fail, and fail hard.

But Fazire didn’t do exactly what she said. He did make her perfect. He made her bright and funny and very, very talented. He made her sweet and thoughtful and very, very caring. He made her generous and kind and very, very loving He decided not to make her beautiful, at least not at first, because she should know humility and not grow up with conceit. Though, she would become a beauty, a splendid beauty beyond compare. Just… later.

Then, alone once more, he split himself into the three persons that all generals of the Church must simultaneously be. First, the anointed Peter, first Bishop of Christ, with all that that spiritually implied. Second, the militant guardian of the Church temporal with all that that implied. And last, just a simple man who believed the teachings of a simple man who was the Son of God.

I mean it today. And tomorrow, it will be today again, and I will mean it for that today. It's always today, Pearl. Don't worry about tomorrow, because it's always today, and every today we have, I will mean it. I will not leave you. Not willingly. Dont't make my mistake. Let me unmake it. Don't throw me away.

I know all too well how Dane Bolton ticks," I began incontrovertibly. "he is bossy and domineering. He is what he is, and I wouldn't change a thing about him. Dane is loyal, honest, fiercely protective, loving and completely dedicated to me. A better man has never walked this earth, and I could not imagine my life without him in it.

Kintsugi is a Japanese art, that takes broken pottery and delicately places it back together by sealing the cracks with gold lacquer. I found myself admiring the metaphor it represents. It reminded me of you. Maybe you feel like you are broken inside, maybe you’re worried that you will disappoint me. Just like this pottery, life will never be perfect, but it can be beautiful. But we have to choose to see the beauty of it, not despite it’s cracks or imperfections but because of it. I get that you may not want to show me the side of you that’s less than perfect, but don’t you see? I don’t want perfect. Perfect is overrated. All I want is you. All that you are. Exactly as you are. I want you to know that I will wait for you, for as long as it takes. Take your time. (but not too long)

She was this girl living in a bottomless hole of her thoughts. One day she saw a light. She felt the warmth and walked in its direction. It was there that she found him. He spoke to her and wove tendrils of love on her heart. His compassion was over whelming for her. His words, his love, his eyes- everything about him was so pure, so true. Her heart was getting intertwined with the love he was bestowing upon her. The mesh of affection he weaved around her heart made it breathe. And live. Vine by vine the mesh thickened. Today, he is her beloved. They are inseparable. He smiles, she smiles. They weave dreams. She loves him beyond infinity. He has her heart strings. And as he walks, she walks with him.

Tonight I saw Jesus with the eyes on my face. He looks half lion and half man. But not more like a lion and not more like a man, rather the same, I have never seen anything like the face of Jesus before, %100 one thing but %100 another thing: a lion man!” “Where did you see Him at?” “On the surface of my blanket as I lay in bed. He was suddenly drawn onto it, like a sketch, and that same moment I knew He was showing His face to me, finally.” “Why do you think He did that?” “I think He thought it was about time.

Sure, the disease- the inner illness- kills. nevertheless, it's the symptoms - right?- which disfigure, which denude, which scrofulate and scar and maim. it hurts, we say, but we don't care a howl about it; we never cared about it before the pain came, only until the pain came, only because the pain came (perhaps that's why we have to suffer now); and we don't care about it today. we care about the presence of our feeling. period. we want it gone. soonest. make the pain go away doc; rub the spots out; make the quarreling stop; let the war end. peace is the death we rest in under that stone that says so. [...] peace is everybody's favourite teddy, peace is splendiferous, and it's not simply the habit of the sandy-nosed. it's the "get well" word. but after all, without a symptom, what do we see? without an outbreak of anger or impatience, what do we feel? without a heart-warming war, would we ever know or care or concern ourselves with what was wrong? the trouble is that the wrong we care for is soon the war itself, the family wrangle, the bellyache, the coated tongue, the blurry eyes, the fever-ah- the fever in the fevertube.

Auri grew serious. “Now close your eyes and bend down so I can give you your second present.” Puzzled, I closed my eyes and bent at the waist, wondering if she had made me a hat as well. I felt her hands on either side of my face, then she gave me a tiny, delicate kiss in the middle of my forehead. Surprised, I opened my eyes. But she was already standing several steps away, her hands clasped nervously behind her back. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Auri took a step forward. “You are special to me,” she said seriously, her face grave. “I want you to know I will always take care of you.” She reached out tentatively and wiped at my cheeks. “No. None of that tonight. This is your third present. If things are bad, you can come and stay with me in the Underthing. It is nice there, and you will be safe.” “Thank you, Auri,” I said as soon as I was able. “You are special to me, too.” “Of course I am,” she said matter-of-factly. “I am as lovely as the moon.

...Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march. He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. ...He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life-or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to "square-away" those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. ...Just as did his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over two hundred years. He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation calls us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this. A short lull, a little shade, and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.

But then Azriel approached her. Nesta had blinked at the gift the shadowsinger set in her lap. 'I didn't get you anything,' she murmured to Az, her cheeks turning rosy. 'I know,' he said, smiling. 'I don't mind.' ... ...his gaze snagged on Nesta's fingers as she opened the small box. She peered at what was inside, then looked at Azriel in confusion. 'What is it?' Azriel plucked up the small folded silver wand within and unfurled it. One end held a clip, the other a small glass sphere. 'You can attach this to whatever book you're reading, and the little ball of faelight will shine. So you don't have to squint when you're reading at night.' Nesta touched the glass ball, no bigger than her thumbnail, and faelight flickered within, casting a bright, easy glow upon her lap. She tapped it again and it turned off. And then she jumped to her feet and flung her arms around Azriel. The room went silent for a beat. But Azriel chuckled and squeezed her gently. Cassian smiled to see it- to see them. 'Thank you,' Nesta said, quickly pulling away to marvel at the device. 'It's brilliant.' Azriel blushed and stepped back, shadows swirling.

Dog Talk … I have seen Ben place his nose meticulously into the shallow dampness of a deer’s hoofprint and shut his eyes as if listening. But it is smell he is listening to. The wild, high music of smell, that we know so little about. Tonight Ben charges up the yard; Bear follows. They run into the field and are gone. A soft wind, like a belt of silk, wraps the house. I follow them to the end of the field where I hear the long-eared owl, at wood’s edge, in one of the tall pines. All night the owl will sit there inventing his catty racket, except when he opens pale wings and drifts moth-like over the grass. I have seen both dogs look up as the bird floats by, and I suppose the field mouse hears it too, in the pebble of his tiny heart. Though I hear nothing. Bear is small and white with a curly tail. He was meant to be idle and pretty but learned instead to love the world, and to romp roughly with the big dogs. The brotherliness of the two, Ben and Bear, increases with each year. They have their separate habits, their own favorite sleeping places, for example, yet each worries without letup if the other is missing. They both bark rapturously and in support of each other. They both sneeze to express plea- sure, and yawn in humorous admittance of embarrassment. In the car, when we are getting close to home and the smell of the ocean begins to surround them, they both sit bolt upright and hum. With what vigor and intention to please himself the little white dog flings himself into every puddle on the muddy road. Somethings are unchangeably wild, others are stolid tame. The tiger is wild, the coyote, and the owl. I am tame, you are tame. The wild things that have been altered, but only into a semblance of tameness, it is no real change. But the dog lives in both worlds. Ben is devoted, he hates the door between us, is afraid of separation. But he had, for a number of years, a dog friend to whom he was also loyal. Every day they and a few others gathered into a noisy gang, and some of their games were bloody. Dog is docile, and then forgets. Dog promises then forgets. Voices call him. Wolf faces appear in dreams. He finds himself running over incredible lush or barren stretches of land, nothing any of us has ever seen. Deep in the dream, his paws twitch, his lip lifts. The dreaming dog leaps through the underbrush, enters the earth through a narrow tunnel, and is home. The dog wakes and the disturbance in his eyes when you say his name is a recognizable cloud. How glad he is to see you, and he sneezes a little to tell you so. But ah! the falling-back, fading dream where he was almost there again, in the pure, rocky weather-ruled beginning. Where he was almost wild again, and knew nothing else but that life, no other possibility. A world of trees and dogs and the white moon, the nest, the breast, the heart-warming milk! The thick-mantled ferocity at the end of the tunnel, known as father, a warrior he himself would grow to be. …