Life En Love Quotes

Lo que mucha gente llama amar consiste en elegir una mujer y casarse con ella. La eligen, te lo juro, los he visto. Como si se pudiera elegir en el amor, como si no fuera un rayo que te parte los huesos y te deja estaqueado en la mitad del patio. Vos dirás que la eligen porque-la-aman, yo creo que es al vesre. A Beatriz no se la elige, a Julieta no se la elige. Vos no elegís la lluvia que te va a calar hasta los huesos cuando salís de un concierto.

If love does not make us reborn from ourselves, if it does not bring out the best values in us, if it does not reveal us to ourselves, life has dispossessed us, and the reasons are hidden in the dark chambers of our past. (“Amour en friche »)

Siempre he creído que en la vida hay personas que te alimentan, que te quieren y que necesitas de tal manera que cuando los pierdes nadie puede llenar ese vacío.

One day it may feel as if energy and enthusiasm are quenched, feelings dried up and emotions scorched, love and affection tangled in a harsh and uninviting setting. Nothing seems to grow anymore. No seed. No flowers. No foreseeable hope. No conceivable prospects. Any blossom of expectation seems to have become an illusion and life appears to have come to a standstill. If no seed of loving care is sown in the untilled, abandoned land, no bud can come into flower. Singer Amy Winehouse felt like lying fallow in the ground of a wasteland "with tears dry, dying a hundred times, going back to black" and leaving eventually for a place of ultimate sorrow and heartbreak, for a point of no return. ( “Amour en friche” )

Amé, fuí amado, el sol acarició mi faz. ¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz! I loved, I was loved, the sun stroked my face. Life, you owe me nothing! Life, we are at peace!

Hay tantas maneras de ser valiente en este mundo. A veces la valentía implica dar tu vida por algo más grande que tú, o por alguien más. A veces se trata de renunciar a todo lo que has conocido, o a todo el mundo que alguna vez has amado, para el bien de algo mejor. Pero a veces no es así, A veces no es más que apretar los dientes por el dolor y por el trabajo de cada día, el lento paseo hacia una vida mejor. Ese es el tipo de valentía que debo tener ahora.

Life, when it was good, was indeed pink. La vie en rose.

Si quelques heures font une grande différence dans le cœur de l’homme, faut-il s’en étonner ? Il n’y a qu’une minute de la vie à la mort.

La vida está hecha de tiempo. Los días se miden en horas, los salarios se miden en función de esas horas, nuestros conocimientos se miden en años. Robamos unos minutos a nuestras jornadas para tomar un café. Volvemos corriendo a nuestros puestos, miramos el reloj, vivimos de cita en cita. Y, sin embargo, el tiempo termina agotándose y en el fondo de tu alma te preguntas si esos segundos, minutos, horas, días, semanas, meses, años y décadas se están empleando de la mejor manera posible.

Chérissez l'amour, Marcus. Faites-en votre plus belle conquête, votre seule ambition. Après les hommes il y aura d'autres hommes. Après les livres, il y a d'autres livres. Après la gloire, il y a d'autres gloires. Après l'argent, il y a encore de l'argent. Mais après l'amour, Marcus, après l'amour il n'y a plus que le sel des larmes.

Het verschil tussen vriendschap en liefde is dat vriendschap afwezigheid verdraagt.

Plus je vieillis et plus je trouve qu’on ne peut vivre qu’avec les êtres qui vous libèrent, qui vous aiment d’une affection aussi légère à porter que forte à éprouver. La vie d’aujourd’hui est trop dure, trop amère, trop anémiante, pour qu’on subisse encore de nouvelles servitudes, venues de qui on aime [...]. C’est ainsi que je suis votre ami, j’aime votre bonheur, votre liberté, votre aventure en un mot, et je voudrais être pour vous le compagnon dont on est sûr, toujours. The older I get, the more I find that you can only live with those who free you, who love you from a lighter affection to bear as strong as you can to experience Today's life is too hard, too bitter, too anemic, for us to undergo new bondages, from whom we love [...]. This is how I am your friend, I love your happiness, your freedom, Your adventure in one word, and I would like to be for you the companion we are sure of, always. ---- Albert Camus à René Char, 17 septembre 1957 (in "Albert Camus - René Char : Correspondance 1946-1959") ---- Albert Camus to René Char, September 17, 1957 (via René Char)

Sencillamente no puedes extender esas cosas para siempre.En algún momento, te quitas el curita y te duele,luego se te pasa y te sientes aliviado.

You always drop by, to en- lighten my mind, when my wings are feeling heavy & i've forgotten how to fly.

El pasado latiéndonos en algún rincón, moviéndonos los pies. El futuro limpio, bailando.

Si percibo en otra persona nada más que lo superficial, percibo principalmente las diferencias, lo que nos separa. Si penetro hasta el núcleo, percibo nuestra identidad, el hecho de nuestra hermandad.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. . Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía. Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancolía. . Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante. Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo. . Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo. . Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

Ya me sobrará tiempo para descansar cuando me muera, pero esta eventualidad no está todavía en mis proyectos.

Algunas personas entran en tu vida por una razón, otras por una temporada y otras para siempre.

Siente una especie de dolor en el pecho, intenso pero placentero. Es como si hubiera una herida, pero una herida leve, una marca en la piel que quieres acariciar, reconocer, disfrutarla por todo lo que significa para ti. Ahora que aún está, porque es posible que, pronto, desaparezca.

El amor consiste en una empatía ilimitada, surgida de lo que el corazón nos revela, que el otro es tan real como nosotros. Y por eso el amor, según lo entiendo, siempre es concreto. Intentar amar a toda la humanidad puede ser una empresa loable, pero curiosamente se centra en uno mismo, en el bienestar moral y espiritual de uno mismo. Mientras que para amar a una persona concreta, e identificarse con sus esfuerzos y alegrías como si fueran propios, uno tiene que renunciar a una parte de sí.

En realidad, mi verdadero problema era que nunca había estado enamorada y, por tal motivo, mi forma de bailar carecía del profundo sentimiento que sólo se consigue después de experimentar una pasión amorosa.

Du har mistet dagen. Du har mistet troen på dagen, på det første og det siste, på det nye som finnes i enhver dag, som finnes i enhver begynnelse og slutt. En ny dag. Den finnes, men du ser den ikke, din dag ligner andre dager, det er fordi du allerede er død. Noe er dødt i deg. Når døde det, når døde du, var det da kjærligheten sluttet? Man kan ikke leve uten kjærlighet. Og likevel lever du, et halv-liv, et nesten-liv, et dødt-liv er det du lever.

I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe'er I came; wheresoe'er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there's that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.

Confession I love you – I love you, e’en as I Rage at myself for this obsession, And as I make my shamed confession, Despairing at your feet I lie. I know, I know – It ill becomes me, I am too old, time to be wise … But how? … This love – it overcomes me, A sickness this in passion’s guise. When you are near I’m filled with sadness, When far, I yawn, for life’s a bore. I must pour out this love, this madness, There’s nothing that I long for more! When your shirts rustle, when, my angel, Your girlish voice I hear, when your Light step sounds in the parlour – strangely, I turn confused, perturbed, unsure. Your frown – and I’m in pain, I languish; You smile – and joy defeats distress; My one reward for a day’s anguish Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. When you sit, bent over your sewing, Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing. About your face, with tenderness I like childlike watch, my heart o’erflowing With love, in my gaze a caress. Shall I my jealousy and yearning Describe, my bitterness and woe When by yourself on some bleak morning Off on a distant walk you go, Or with another spend the evening And, with him near, the piano play, Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving Weep and in silence, pass the day? Alina! Pray relent have mercy! I dare not ask for love – with all My many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy! But if feigned love, if you would Pretend, you’d easily deceive me, For happily would I, believe me, Deceive myself if but I could!

Optimism is a belief and I adapt belief as a way of life.

La mirada muere en el infinito, sin embargo la emoción y el sentimiento renacen".

Lo más difícil no es olvidar el pasado, es no pensar en el futuro que imaginé.

I truly love my friends but the idea of being a damaged woman if you’re alone.

Tenía miedo. La idea se me presentó como una revelación y supe que era verdad. Decía que quería tratar de crecer y cambiar, pero en verdad todo lo que hacía llevaba a que las cosas siguieran siendo exactamente iguales, Cuando me enfrentaba a un cambio, pisaba los frenos. [...] Quería mantenerme en mi burbuja perfecta, en donde sabía que si todo no era perfecto, al menos era manejable.

(...) Porque sentía que la única forma de salir del hoyo era enterrando la cabeza en el suelo, porque creía que no había otra forma. Pero sí que la hay. Solo que el camino es más difícil y el dolor dura más.

Y en el mundo real, Santa no es justo. Los niños ricos reciben todo y los niños pobres reciben basura de segunda mano que sus padres consiguen a duras penas. Hasta sentarte en el regazo de Santa cuesta dinero.

Ik wil branden in het vuur van mijn gevoelens. Ik wil alles, want alleen als ik alles heb weet ik dat ik iets ben. Ik wil meegevoerd worden om de zinloosheid van mijn bestaan te vergeten en ik wil de ander vervoering, onderdompeling en overgave geven en laten ondergaan om duidelijk te maken dat er niets is buiten mij, dat ik de kern van haar bestaan ben, dat het nergens beter is en dat ik alles verdien wat zij kan geven.

Lorsqu'on se baigne dans le Langage Universel, il est facile de comprendre qu'il y a toujours dans le monde une personne qui en attend une autre, que ce soit en plein désert ou au cœur des grandes villes. Et quand ces deux personnes se rencontrent, et que leurs regards se croisent, tout le passé et tout le futur sont désormais sans la moindre importance, seul existe ce moment présent, et cette incroyable certitude que toute chose sous la voûte du ciel a été écrite par la même Main. La Main qui fait naître l'Amour, et qui a créé une âme sœur pour chaque être qui travaille, se repose, et cherche des trésors sous la lumière du soleil.

Leer un buen libro es casi como estar en la luna. Durante esos instantes, mientras te sumerges entre las páginas, dejas de tener los pies en la tierra, viajas lejos, a otros lugares, a otros mundos, a otras vidas...

Vi er ikke annet enn tønner fulle av varme, halvråtne innvoller, og derfor har vi alltid vanskeligheter med følelsene våre. Å være forelsket er ingen kunst. Kunsten består i å unngå å gå i oppløsning. En lort har ingen ambisjoner i retning av å vokse og holde seg levende. På dette punktet er vi langt uheldigere stillet enn våre eksrementer. Ved å tviholde så frenetisk på kravet om å bestå i vår nåværende tilstand, utsetter vi oss selv for de utroligste pinsler.

Qué error fatal poner el amor en el centro del matrimonio, amor y matrimonio no tienen nada que ver, amor y familia no tienen nada que ver, los sentimientos entre un hombre y una mujer, dentro de ese dispositivo, solo pueden esfumarse.

—Dice que hay una piedra dentro de usted. Una piedra blanca y dura. Grande como el puño de un niño. No sabe de dónde ha venido. —¿Una piedra? —dijo Satsuki. —En la piedra hay algo escrito, pero está en japonés y no puede leerlo. Hay trazados unos pequeños caracteres en tinta negra. Es algo muy antiguo, usted debe de llevar muchos años viviendo con ello en su interior. Debe deshacerse de esa piedra. Si no lo hace, esa piedra permanecerá, ella sola, incluso después de que usted haya muerto y hayan incinerado su cuerpo. (Tailandia)

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

Y es que no hay que humanizar en absoluto a los animales, sino únicamente entenderlos mejor; porque estas comparaciones son sobre todo para entender que los animales no son criaturas estúpidas que se hayan quedado notablemente por debajo de nosotros desde un punto de vista evolutivo, y sólo hayan recibido apagadas versiones de nuestra rica paleta en lo relativo al dolor y demás.

Tatiana liked the notion of the dress, she liked the feeling of the cotton against her skin and the stitched roses under her fingers, but she did not like the feeling of her exploding body trapped inside the lung-squeezing material. What she enjoyed was the memory of her skinny-as-a-stick fourteen-year-old self putting on that dress for the first time and going out for a Sunday walk on Nevsky. It was for that feeling that she had put on the dress again this Sunday, the day Germany invaded the Soviet Union. On another level, on a conscious, loudly-audible-to-the-soul level, what Tatiana also loved about the dress was a small tag that said FABRIQUÉ EN FRANCE. Fabriqué en France! It was gratifying to own a piece of anything not made badly by the Soviets, but instead made well and romantically by the French; for who was more romantic than the French? The French were masters of love. All nations were different. The Russians were unparalleled in their suffering, the English in their reserve, the Americans in their love of life, the Italians in their love of Christ, and the French in their hope of love. So when they made the dress for Tatiana, they made it full of promise. They made it as if to tell her, put it on, chérie, and in this dress you, too, shall be loved as we have loved; put it on and love shall be yours. And so Tatiana never despaired in her white dress with red roses. Had the Americans made it, she would have been happy. Had the Italians made it, she would have started praying, had the British made it, she would have squared her shoulders, but because the French had made it, she never lost hope. Though at the

No sé si el ser humano tiene un punto masoquista, si nuestra naturaleza busca lo que nos hace sufrir o si simplemente vivir es así. Lo que sé es que tenía razón: ahí está la gracia. En no ser invencible. Siempre apreciaría más aquellas cosas que supusieran un riesgo, porque al conseguirlas sentiría haberme superado. Y lo único que necesitaba conseguir en aquel momento era a mí. La estabilidad. La tranquilidad. Estar en casa dentro de mí misma.

Y en otros momentos me parece que aquella época está a sólo un palmo de distancia, casi al alcance de la mano, y que si pudiera rodearte con los brazos o tocar tu mejilla o tu nuca, podría transportarte conmigo a un futuro diferente donde no existirían el dolor ni la oscuridad ni las opciones amargas. Bueno, todos hacemos lo que podemos, y eso debe bastarnos..., y si no nos basta, debemos resignamos. Sólo espero que tengas el mejor recuerdo posible de mí.

To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe'er I came; wheresoe'er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights.

To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe'er I came; wheresoe'er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights.

Afterwards, having gone to Montirandet, and still following the weavers calling, she fell in love again with a certain woman, with whom she married and lived, as the story goes, contentedly four or five months. But, having been recognised by some one living at Chaumont, and the matter having been brought to the notice of the courts, she was condemned to be hanged; whereupon she Montier-en-Der. declared she would liefer suffer thus than live a woman’s life. She was hanged on the charge of using unlawful appliances to remedy the defects of her sex.

She was the first close friend who I felt like I’d re­ally cho­sen. We weren’t in each other’s lives be­cause of any obli­ga­tion to the past or con­ve­nience of the present. We had no shared his­tory and we had no rea­son to spend all our time to­ gether. But we did. Our friend­ship in­ten­si­fied as all our friends had chil­dren – she, like me, was un­con­vinced about hav­ing kids. And she, like me, found her­self in a re­la­tion­ship in her early thir­ties where they weren’t specif­i­cally work­ing to­wards start­ing a fam­ily. By the time I was thirty-four, Sarah was my only good friend who hadn’t had a baby. Ev­ery time there was an­other preg­nancy an­nounce­ment from a friend, I’d just text the words ‘And an­other one!’ and she’d know what I meant. She be­came the per­son I spent most of my free time with other than Andy, be­cause she was the only friend who had any free time. She could meet me for a drink with­out plan­ning it a month in ad­vance. Our friend­ship made me feel lib­er­ated as well as safe. I looked at her life choices with no sym­pa­thy or con­cern for her. If I could ad­mire her de­ci­sion to re­main child-free, I felt en­cour­aged to ad­mire my own. She made me feel nor­mal. As long as I had our friend­ship, I wasn’t alone and I had rea­son to be­lieve I was on the right track. We ar­ranged to meet for din­ner in Soho af­ter work on a Fri­day. The waiter took our drinks or­der and I asked for our usual – two Dirty Vodka Mar­ti­nis. ‘Er, not for me,’ she said. ‘A sparkling wa­ter, thank you.’ I was ready to make a joke about her un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ab­sti­nence, which she sensed, so as soon as the waiter left she said: ‘I’m preg­nant.’ I didn’t know what to say. I can’t imag­ine the ex­pres­sion on my face was par­tic­u­larly en­thu­si­as­tic, but I couldn’t help it – I was shocked and felt an un­war­ranted but in­tense sense of be­trayal. In a de­layed re­ac­tion, I stood up and went to her side of the ta­ble to hug her, un­able to find words of con­grat­u­la­tions. I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in va­garies about it ‘just be­ing the right time’ and wouldn’t elab­o­rate any fur­ther and give me an an­swer. And I needed an an­swer. I needed an an­swer more than any­thing that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a re­al­iza­tion that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it. When I woke up the next day, I re­al­ized the feel­ing I was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing was not anger or jeal­ousy or bit­ter­ness – it was grief. I had no one left. They’d all gone. Of course, they hadn’t re­ally gone, they were still my friends and I still loved them. But huge parts of them had dis­ap­peared and there was noth­ing they could do to change that. Un­less I joined them in their spa­ces, on their sched­ules, with their fam­i­lies, I would barely see them. And I started dream­ing of an­other life, one com­pletely re­moved from all of it. No more chil­dren’s birth­day par­ties, no more chris­ten­ings, no more bar­be­cues in the sub­urbs. A life I hadn’t ever se­ri­ously con­tem­plated be­fore. I started dream­ing of what it would be like to start all over again. Be­cause as long as I was here in the only Lon­don I knew – mid­dle-class Lon­don, cor­po­rate Lon­don, mid-thir­ties Lon­don, mar­ried Lon­don – I was in their world. And I knew there was a whole other world out there.

Oh! thou clear spirit of clear fire, whom on these seas I as Persian once did worship, till in the sacramental act so burned by thee, that to this hour I bear the scar; I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e’en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe’er I came; wheresoe’er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there’s that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.

Context is everything in both narrative and real life, and while the accusation is never that these creators deliberately set out to discriminate against gay and female characters, the unavoidable implication is that they should have known better than to add to the sum total of those stories which, en masse, do exactly that. And if the listmakers can identify the trend so thoroughly – if, despite all the individual qualifications, protests and contextualisations of the authors, these problems can still be said to exist – then the onus, however disconnected from the work of any one individual, nonetheless falls to those individuals, in their role as cultural creators, to acknowledge the problem; to do better next time; perhaps even to apologise. This last is a particular sticking point. By and large, human beings tend not to volunteer apologies for things they perceive to be the fault of other people, for the simple reason that apology connotes guilt, and how can we feel guilty – or rather, why should we – if we’re not the ones at fault? But while we might argue over who broke a vase, the vase itself is still broken, and will remain so, its shards ground into the carpet, until someone decides to clean it up. Blog Post: Love Team Freezer

[Sings:] The pow’r of love, O ’tis a curious thing: It changeth hawks into a gentle dove, It maketh one man weep, another sing, More than a feeling: ’tis the pow’r of love. ’Tis tougher e’en than diamonds, rich like cream, It makes a bad one good, a wrong one right, ’Tis stronger, harder than a wench’s dream, The pow’r of love shall keep thee home at night. When first thou feelest it, may make thee sad, When next thou feelest it, may be profound, Yet when thou learnest this, thou shalt be glad: It is this power makes the world go ’round. ’Tis strong and sudden, sent by heav’n above, It may just save thy life, this pow’r of love.

Now, sitting opposite him, she still saw the handsome young man she had fallen in love with. The self-assured, optimistic artist no one had ever tried to kill, with his simple, almost childlike way of looking at things that enabled him to follow a steady path, safe from life’s cruelties. It allowed him to believe that turning the page, burying the past, or talking to a psychiatrist for months about your mother’s desire to eat you, would help her to overcome her fears, to live in a world of green meadows and blue skies sustained by simply willing it to be so. This belief that happiness was a choice struck her as so naïve as to be almost insulting.

Confession I love you – I love you, e’en as I Rage at myself for this obsession, And as I make my shamed confession, Despairing at your feet I lie. I know, I know – It ill becomes me, I am too old, time to be wise … But how? … This love – it overcomes me, A sickness this in passion’s guise. When you are near I’m filled with sadness, When far, I yawn, for life’s a bore. I must pour out this love, this madness, There’s nothing that I long for more! When your shirts rustle, when, my angel, Your girlish voice I hear, when your Light step sounds in the parlour – strangely, I turn confused, perturbed, unsure. Your frown – and I’m in pain, I languish; You smile – and joy defeats distress; My one reward for a day’s anguish Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. When you sit, bent over your sewing, Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing. About your face, with tenderness I like childlike watch, my heart o’erflowing With love, in my gaze a caress. Shall I my jealousy and yearning Describe, my bitterness and woe When by yourself on some bleak morning Off on a distant walk you go, Or with another spend the evening And, with him near, the piano play, Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving Weep and in silence, pass the day? Alina! Pray relent have mercy! I dare not ask for love – with all My many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy! But if feigned love, if you would Pretend, you’d easily deceive me, For happily would I, believe me, Deceive myself if but I could!

Yea, and thy deeds shall thou know, and great shall thy gladness be; As a picture all of gold thy life-days shalt thou see, And know that thou too wert a God to abide through the hurry and haste; A God in the golden hall, a God on the rain-swept waste, A God in the battle triumphant, a God on the heap of the slain: And thine hope shall arise and blossom, and thy love shall be quickened again: And then shalt thou see before thee the face of all earthly ill; Thou shalt drink of the cup of awakening that thine hand hath holpen to fill; By the side of the sons of Odin shalt thou fashion a tale to be told In the hall of the happy Baldur: nor there shall the tale grow old Of the days before the changing, e'en those that over us pass. So harden thine heart, O brother, and set thy brow as the brass!

O my dark Rosaleen,     Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green,     They march along the deep. There’s wine from the royal Pope,     Upon the ocean green;    And Spanish ale shall give you hope,        My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope,     My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills, and thro’ dales,     Have I roam’d for your sake; All yesterday I sail’d with sails     On river and on lake. The Erne, at its highest flood,     I dash’d across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! O, there was lightning in my blood, Red lighten’d thro’ my blood.     My Dark Rosaleen! All day long, in unrest,     To and fro, do I move. The very soul within my breast     Is wasted for you, love! The heart in my bosom faints     To think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints,     My Dark Rosaleen! Woe and pain, pain and woe,     Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so,     Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne     Again in golden sheen; ‘Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! ‘Tis you shall have the golden throne, ‘Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,     My Dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands,     Will I fly, for your weal: Your holy delicate white hands     Shall girdle me with steel. At home, in your emerald bowers,     From morning’s dawn till e’en, You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My fond Rosaleen! You’ll think of me through daylight hours My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,     My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air,     I could plough the high hills, Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer,     To heal your many ills! And one beamy smile from you     Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew,     My Dark Rosaleen! O, the Erne shall run red,     With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread,        And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal and slogan-cry     Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,     My Dark Rosaleen!     My own Rosaleen! The Judgement Hour must first be nigh, Ere you can fade, ere you can die,     My Dark Rosaleen!

The politics of time was clarified in my women's liberation group in the 1970's when one of us, a mother of small children, found herself single. Parenting and providing seemed irreconcilable. Within a generation it had become the norm. By 2010 single parents comprised 25 per cent of all families and 60 per cent had a paid job. The agenda this implies is obvious: not the trick of work-life balance that assigns responsibility to women but a political economy that has at its heart not a breadwinner who is an unencumbered, cared-for man but a mother. Women's appeal to men to share parenting has, of course, been answered by millions of men. They attend the birth of their babies, they fall in love with them and then soon, too soon, before they have even got acquainted, they leave the babies and the mother's from morning till night and go back to their paid jobs. Nowhere have men reciprocated women's paid work and unpaid care by initiating mass movements for men's equal parental leave or working time that synchronizes with children and women; nowhere have men en masse shared the costs—in time and money—of childhood.

we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? “No, thank you,” he will think. “Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.

Beyond Discouragement He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength. Isaiah 40:29 NKJV We Christians have many reasons to celebrate. God is in His heaven; Christ has risen, and we are the sheep of His flock. Yet sometimes, even the most devout believers may become discouraged. After all, we live in a world where expectations can be high and demands can be even higher. When we fail to meet the expectations of others (or, for that matter, the expectations that we have for ourselves), we may be tempted to abandon hope. But God has other plans. He knows exactly how He intends to use us. Our task is to remain faithful until He does. If you’re a woman who has become discouraged with the direction of your day or your life, turn your thoughts and prayers to God. He is a God of possibility, not negativity. He will help you count your blessings instead of your hardships. And then, with a renewed spirit of optimism and hope, you can properly thank your Father in heaven for His blessings, for His love, and for His Son. Overcoming discouragement is simply a matter of taking away the DIS and adding the EN. Barbara Johnson Just as courage is faith in good, so discouragement is faith in evil, and, while courage opens the door to good, discouragement opens it to evil. Hannah Whitall Smith The strength that we claim from God’s Word does not depend on circumstances. Circumstances will be difficult, but our strength will be sufficient. Corrie ten Boom Would we know the major chords were so sweet if there were no minor key? Mrs. Charles E. Cowman MORE FROM GOD’S WORD But as for you, be strong; don’t be discouraged, for your work has a reward. 2 Chronicles 15:7 HCSB The Lord is the One who will go before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid or discouraged. Deuteronomy 31:8 HCSB

You’re my death, en’t you?” she said. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “You en’t going to take me yet, are you?” “You wanted me. I am always here.” “Yes, but… I did, yes, but… I want to go to the land of the dead, that’s true. But not to die. I don’t want to die. I love being alive, and I love my dæmon, and… Dæmons don’t go down there, do they? I seen ’em vanish and just go out like candles when people die. Do they have dæmons in the land of the dead?” “No,” he said. “Your dæmon vanishes into the air, and you vanish under the ground.” “Then I want to take my dæmon with me when I go to the land of the dead,” she said firmly. “And I want to come back again. Has it ever been known, for people to do that?” “Not for many, many ages. Eventually, child, you will come to the land of the dead with no effort, no risk, a safe, calm journey, in the company of your own death, your special, devoted friend, who’s been beside you every moment of your life, who knows you better than yourself—” “But Pantalaimon is my special and devoted friend! I don’t know you, Death, I know Pan and I love Pan and if he ever—if we ever—” The death was nodding. He seemed interested and kindly, but she couldn’t for a moment forget what he was: her very own death, and so close. “I know it’ll be an effort to go on now,” she said more steadily, “and dangerous, but I want to, Death, I do truly. And so does Will. We both had people taken away too soon, and we need to make amends, at least I do.” “Everyone wishes they could speak again to those who’ve gone to the land of the dead. Why should there be an exception for you?” “Because,” she began, lying, “because there’s something I’ve got to do there, not just seeing my friend Roger, something else. It was a task put on me by an angel, and no one else can do it, only me. It’s too important to wait till I die in the natural way, it’s got to be done now. See, the angel commanded me. That’s why we came here, me and Will. We got to.” Behind her, Tialys put away his instrument and sat watching the child plead with her own death to be taken where no one should go. The death scratched his head and held up his hands, but nothing could stop Lyra’s words, nothing could deflect her desire, not even fear: she’d seen worse than death, she claimed, and she had, too.

he is a sence of unrest the new birth maybe is not that good....bitterness...except for his grandson ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 8 | posición 123-125 | Añadido el miércoles, 6 de mayo de 2015 23:07:16 Ethan was still as good-looking as he’d been before, a fact that annoyed her as much as anything else. It seemed like a life of crime should cast its mark on your appearance. But he still had the same strong features, vivid green eyes, and lean, fit body. His hair had been blazing red when he was a kid, but it had darkened now to an auburn. ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 9 | posición 127-128 | Añadido el miércoles, 6 de mayo de 2015 23:07:49 Ethan’s plans, the way he always had. He’d always trusted Ethan. So had she. The thought upset ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 9 | posición 132-134 | Añadido el miércoles, 6 de mayo de 2015 23:09:09 He’d seemed to transform while he was away from the skinny boy she’d known before. He’d broadened across the shoulders and chest, and he’d suddenly become really good-looking. Very good-looking. ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 9 | posición 134-135 | Añadido el miércoles, 6 de mayo de 2015 23:09:22 The lingering crush on him Ashley had had all her life had morphed into full-blown love. ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 28 | posición 427-427 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 7:39:32 hot-wire a car. Why ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 38 | posición 574-574 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 18:22:07 He screeched to a halt. As soon as he slammed it into ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 42 | posición 641-642 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 19:30:10 He was the antithesis of the nice, clean, stable life she wanted to build for herself. He was bossy, and arrogant, and infuriating, and condescending, and presumptuous, and smug, and without compassion, and bossy… ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 42 | posición 643-644 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 19:30:23 And he had looked so funny in that cowboy hat. And he had the most delicious laugh she had ever heard. And sometimes, like when he’d fake-kissed her earlier, there was a warmth in his eyes that was so unexpected, so breathtaking… ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 62 | posición 945-945 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 20:55:59 As long as you don’t hog the covers.” ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 82 | posición 1253-1254 | Añadido el jueves, 7 de mayo de 2015 23:37:15 he wasn’t a bad guy at heart. He’d never been truly a bad guy. For the first time in the last eighteen months, she knew it for sure. ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 94 | posición 1438-1439 | Añadido el viernes, 8 de mayo de 2015 7:45:17 she felt like it was only humane to let him know she was okay. ========== Road Tripping (Noelle Adams) - Tu subrayado en la página 179 | posición 2744-2745 | Añadido el viernes, 8 de mayo de 2015 21:04:11 was uncomfortably hot and smushed. Attempting to rouse herself ========== Mis recortes - Tu subrayado en la posición 1-6 | Añadido el sábado, 9 de mayo de 2015 13:59:08 When I Break (Ryan, Kendall) - Tu subrayado en la posición 518-519 | Añadido el viernes, 13 de marzo de 2015 20:31:52 Her voice was light, clear, and appealing. ========== When We Fall (Kendall Ryan) - Tu subrayado en la página 105 | posición 1601-1601 | Añadido el lunes, 16 de marzo de 2015 11:42:37 Two long and hard days had passed since Knox told me. ========== Unravel Me (Ryan, Kendall) - Tu nota en la página 20 | posición 304 | Añadido el martes, 17 de marzo de 2015 1:24:23 interesante ====

«Vae victis ha sido nuestro lema, y los resultados han sido escalofriantes. Es evidente que hemos llegado al fin de una etapa y que debemos pensar en el futuro. »La religión que ha dirigido, real o supuestamente, nuestra conducta durante diecinueve siglos, ha sido descartada. Hasta el divino espíritu de Cristo fue arrojado lejos por Nietzsche, como quien tira el hacha después del mango o, para usar una mejor analogía alemana, al niño junto con el agua del baño. »La estúpida moral sexual de Pablo ha desacreditado todo el Evangelio: Pablo era impotente; de hecho alardeaba de no sentir deseos sexuales y deseaba que todos los hombres fuesen como él en este aspecto, del mismo modo que el zorro de la fábula que, habiendo perdido su cola, deseaba que todos los otros zorros fueran mutilados de la misma manera, para alcanzar su perfección...»

February 11 The Dance of Grace Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom.—James 3:13 Ladies, this week I came upon the following definition of humility as used in James 3:13: an inwrought grace of soul. Humility. Grace of soul. Stop for a moment; turn those words over in your mind a little. Isn’t grace of soul the perfect descriptor of that friend of yours who is steeped in humility? Is she not wise? Does she not say the right thing, do the very thing you need at the very moment you need it? Oh how elusive, humility. Yet grace describes it so well. Ah, but how to describe grace? I see grace not as a single entity, but as a compilation of the Spirit’s fruit. If you imagine a ballerina pirouetting, a vision of swirling chiffon, it is not the step you admire but the whole dance. Love, joy, peace—yes; patience, gentleness, goodness, kindness—for sure; carefully choreographed by the Spirit onto the soul. Inwrought. Then manifest wisely, in humility. Make no mistake; grace of soul does not come easily. The Spirit gently prods away, as life throws itself at us. Our souls would lack spiritual substance, left to their own devices. Neither is the life of a ballerina softness and fluff. Her muscles have to be firmed by years of training, before her routine can become a part of her being. I ask you ladies, does the ballerina train for years to recline on her couch? No. No. Absolutely not. Her mind twirls en pointe. Her muscles ooze ballet. So too soul grace, once inwrought. It cannot be contained, but dances out. The humble are not even aware of the rhythm they are in. Of course, grace is never a polished ballet until heaven. While on this earth, the best I can do is get in the rhythm of the Spirit and let grace dance the dance of life like the ballerina she is.

Bazıları için aşkın tanımı buydu. Derslerde en arkaya otururlar. Yaz günü 40 derece sıcakta giydikleri blazer ceketleri ve ucuz popülerliğin son moda pop şarkılarını bangırdattıkları, sanayiden 100 Lira’ya temin edilmiş çakma ses sistemleriyle donatılmış, viteslerine bir tespih geçirilmiş arabaları olur. Hocaya sordukları sorularla onu bozmaya çalışır ve kendi esprilerine vahşi bir hayvanın boru gibi sesiyle gülerler. Bütün cümleleri gramer teröründe gazi madalyası alacak kadar bozuktur ve sonlarına mutlaka bir küfür yerleştirirler. Anlaşılamaz ve yersiz bir özgüvene sahiptirler. İşte yüzlerinden bela akan, gittikleri her yerde ezelden oralıymış gibi davranan, at hırsızından dönme bu tip erkekler için her kızla yatmıyor olmak aşkın tanımıydı. Yatabilirlerdi. Ama yatmamayı tercih ederek asaletin pençesinde aşk ıstırabı çekerlerdi.

As U were created Created to the second self of God Created to be greatness U are Gods gift unto himself God is U because Ur the first The first to behold the uplifting of life U were created Created to be A daugther A Mother and yes a Wife Gods gift to the world Heaven U are At Ur feet heaven is The best created The Most High knew his plan His plan for U to comfort Man Be protected and loved Not all will be easy But greatness is at the tip of Ur hands Created to be loved Know U take time Knowing U is a great thing Life is U Love U are U are the greatest The second self of God .

El muchacho le explicó, como pronunciando un sermón, que el mundo de los hombres era vil y estaba lleno de mentiras. En él, solo el arte conducía a la vida verdadera y eterna, y él mismo era grande porque sabía lo que se encontraba más allá de las puertas del arte. La muchacha no podía dudar de la nobleza de sus palabras.

Vaig entendre que només som la part insignificant d'una cadena de paradoxes. ¿O potser no és una paradoxa que allò que en diuen amor sovint acaba sent un desacord entre infeliços?

Era crédula, aunque lo negara, seguía creyendo en cuentos de hadas, por más que la vida trataba de decirme a gritos que las cosas no funcionaban de esa manera.

Emma shut her laptop and scowled at them. “I’m pink.” She wasn’t sure when her opinion of the color changed or why, but she now took offense to outsiders putting down the pink as much as she took offense to corporations abusing the color. What she once criticized she now understood. Despite all the exploitation, there was something intangible behind the pink, a sense of connectedness, and she wanted to embrace that camaraderie.

Tenemos una vida por delante... pero a veces, las cosas en las vidas de las personas no suceden cronológicamente como deberían. Especialmente en nuestras vidas. Nuestro orden cronológico se volvió confuso hace mucho tiempo.

Dejar ir no significa darse por vencido, sino aceptar que hay cosas que no pueden ser.

Ah. I knew I forgot something. It’s the reason I came here, to you—it wasn’t just because I needed your touch to help make me stronger. It was so much more than that. I couldn’t be away from you a second longer. I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. In fact, we became so close in the last six months, I didn’t think we could get any closer.” She put her fingers on his lips. “The joke’s on me—this goes beyond my wildest expectations. If you’re only pretending, you’re a gifted actor.” “No acting, Brie. I love you. Endlessly.” “And I love you.” Her admission fulfilled his deepest desires. “You mean this?” “Sí, Miguel. I can’t imagine being without you. Not now. You’ve been everything to me for months. I love you so much.” “Nunca soñe que yo pudiera tener esto en mi vida.” I never dreamed I could have this in my life. “I didn’t even know it existed.” “And

If something other than God quick- ens your heart more than His love, take note. That which makes your heart beat fast may actually be the thing you need to fast from. While we may not be a culture that worships idols carved out of wood, many of us have made idols of our digital devices. During this forty-day fast, we are laying down our phones, physi- cally turning away from the divisive distraction of social media and those we like in an e ort to turn our attention back to the One we love. If you have made the subconscious choice to turn away from God’s love over the years, you can make a conscious choice to turn back to it now.

Combien naquirent sur les sols boueux de nos campagnes, en plein sable, dans la tempête, sans eau et sans lumière ? Le voyage n’est-il donc pas pour tout le monde le même ? Qu’importe. Le temps qui nous est accordé ne nous semblera infini que si l’amour s’en mêle. Et peut-être, de nos larmes dernières ayant troublé la poussière, reviendrons-nous, phosphorescents, de l’au-delà. Une vie minuscule contre l’éternité.

Aunque la mayoría de las personas son más desgraciadas cuando están enamoradas, no deja de ser el estado en el que más desea estar el ser humano

At her best, no one has ever surpassed George Sand as the novelist of Nature, because her style pulsates with a natural vigor and music and because she was a countrywoman as well as a Romantic. Her range includes not only the mysteries and enchantments of distant horizons and perilous wanderings, of superstition and legend, of ecstatic (and often feminist) solitude; but also the closely observed and dearly loved realities of peasant life: the greeds and frugalities, the labor of the seasons, the farm animals and insects, the stolid silences of illiterate folk radiated with their music and dancing, their enchanting dialect speech. Her romans champêtres (La Mare au Diable, François le Champi, La Petite Fadette, Jeanne, Les Maîtres sonneurs, Le Meunier d'Angibault) are those of Sand's novels which have never gone completely out of fashion and to which the English country novelists (George Eliot and Thomas Hardy) were most in debt. But Sand had something her English imitators did not and that was her grasp of history. "Tout concourt à I'histoire," she wrote, "tout est I'histoire, meme les romans qui semblent ne se rattacher en rien aux situations politiques qui les voient eclore." Her country tales and her love stories take place in the churning past and the open future of a world of toppling regimes, shifting classes, and clashing ideologies.

إنَّ أخطرَ ما يهدِّدُ حياةَ الإنسانِ هو الإدمانُ، الإدمانُ على كلِّ شيءٍ؛ على الحبِّ، على الوحدةِ، على الصداقةِ، على الكحولِ، على القراءةِ؛ لأنَّ في الإدمانِ التصاقًا مهولًا بالذَّاتِ تلبيةً لرغائبها؛ وإذا اقتربتَ من أيّ شيءٍ أكثرَ من اللَّازمِ، لن يكونَ هناكَ مجالٌ لرؤيتِه! قرِّب يدَكَ من عينيكَ وأخبرني ماذا ترى! The most dangerous threat to a person’s life is an addiction, addiction to everything; addiction to love, to loneliness, to friendship, to alcohol; Because addiction has a tremendous attachment to the self in response to its desires, And if you get too close to anything, there is no way to see it! Hold your hand close to your eyes and tell me what you see! La menace la plus dangereuse pour la vie d’une personne est la dépendance, la dépendance à tout; dépendance à l'amour, à la solitude, à l'amitié, à l'alcool; Parce que la dépendance a un énorme attachement à soi en réponse à ses désirs, Et si vous vous approchez trop de quoi que ce soit, il n'y a aucun moyen de le voir! Tenez votre main près de vos yeux et dites-moi ce que vous voyez!

Never to feel his own feelings sincerely, and to rise his pallid triumph to the point of regarding his own ambitions, longings and desires with indifference; to pass alongside his joys anxieties as if passing by someone who doesn't interest him … The greatest self-mastery is to be indifferent towards ourselves, to see our body and soul as merely the house and grounds where Destiny willed that we spend our life. To treat our own dreams and deepest desires with arrogance, en grand seigneur, politely and carefully ignoring them. To act modestly in our own presence; to realize that we are never truly alone, since we are our own witnesses, and should therefore act before ourselves as before a stranger, with a studied and serene outward manner – indifferent because it's noble, and cold because it's indifferent. In order not to sink in our own estimation, all we have to do is quit having ambitions, passions, desires, hopes, whims or nervous disquiet. The key is to remember that we're always in our presence – we are never so alone that we can feel at ease. With this in mind, we will overcome having passions and ambitions, for this make us vulnerable; we won't have desires or hopes, since desires and hopes are plebeian and inelegant; and we won't have whims or be disquieted, because rash behavior is unpleasant for others to witness, and agitated behaviors is always a vulgarity. The aristocrat is the one who never forgets that he's never alone, that's why etiquette and decorum are the privilege of aristocrats. Let take him out of his gardens and drawing rooms and place him in our soul and in our consciousness of existing. Let's always treat ourselves with etiquette and decorum, with studied and for-other-people gestures. Each of us is an entire community, an entire neighborhood of the great Mystery, and we should at least make sure that the life of our neighborhood is distinctive and elegant, that the feasts of our sensations are genteel and restrained, and that the banquets of our thoughts are decorous and dignified. Since other souls may build poor and filthy neighborhoods around us, we should clearly define where our begins and ends, and from the facades of our feelings to the alcoves of our shyness, everything should be noble and serene, sculpted in sobriety, without ostentation. We should try to find a serene way to realize each sensation. To reduce love to the shadow of a dream of love, a pale and tremulous interval between the crests of two tint, moonlit waves. To turn desire into a useless and innocuous thing, a kind of knowing smile in our soul; to make it into something we never dream of achieving or even expressing. To lull hearted to sleep like a captive snake, and to tell fear to give up all its outer manifestations except for anguish in our eyes, or rather, in our eyes of soul, for only this attitude can be considered aesthetic.

If you take my right hand, you can start over. You will be reborn as a different character; your personality will develop along a different path. Your story will be irretrievably altered. And this time, there will be no mistakes. You will live, love, and die, blissfully unaware.

Estoy atrapada en algún lugar entre odiarlo mucho, no querer volver a verlo y querer que jamás me suelte.

Éramos fantasmas y los fantasmas no existen en la vida real; no se puede tocar a un fantasma

Si nos encontramos en persona, entonces ya no podrás llamarme Fantasma. No voy a ser un fantasma. Voy a ser real.

Verlo en la vida real es la respuesta a muchas preguntas que nunca me había dado cuenta de que había estado haciéndome.

Over the next few weeks, the Comanches attacked with a vengeance. News came that the mercenaries, en route to attack another village, were all killed. Tales of Hunter filtered to the Masters farm, some horrible, some heartbreakingly familiar. As fiercely as the Indians waged war, Hunter still spared women and children. Loretta’s eyes filled with tears when she was told by the border patrol from Fort Belknap that somewhere along the Red River, Hunter had ridden up to a yellow-haired woman and saluted her. Loretta knew Hunter hoped she would somehow hear the tale and understand the message he sent to her. She did understand, and she grieved for what might have been. With every Indian attack, the chasm between her and Hunter grew wider. When the horror of it became too much, she found herself justifying the Indians’ actions by remembering the attack on the village. She recalled Many Horses, a frail old man, trying to rescue a child and dying as a result. She thought of the terrified young squaw, running for her life ad her child’s, cut down from behind. She realized now that there was no good or bad, no right or wrong, just people fighting for their lives. Wonderful people, who lived and loved and laughed. She thought of Red Buffalo often, finally accepting what Hunter had tried so desperately to explain, that good men can be driven to do horrible things. Red Buffalo had committed some unforgivable acts, but at long last Loretta could look deeper into the man and come closer to understanding why. She thanked God that she had saved Red Buffalo’s life during the tosi tivo attack, knowing that Red Buffalo guarded Hunter’s back against the tosi tivo with the same ferocity that he had once tried to guard Hunter’s future against one tosi woman.

Conocer la verdad con la mente y aferrarnos a ella como un tesoro en nuestros corazones es la clave a la santidad.

No podía sentirme una perdedora en el amor cuando me rodeaba en todas las versiones de Paloma.

En ese momento no deseaba otra cosa más que quitarle corazón a mis recuerdos.

¿Por qué poner tanto empeño en que yo le perdonara? ¿Realmente le gustaba tanto? Es decir, ¿yo era su es para tanto? Que no era falta de autoestima, era la antesala a reconocer que yo no podría ser lo que él quería que fuera o, pensaba que era.

Why do we do this to each other? Why can’t we trust anyone anymore?” “Because it is just life. It’s the way things are. We just have to pick ourselves up, and move on. But somewhere out there I really believe that there is an ideal soul-mate for each of us that we will meet one day and fall in love with. It’s just a matter of time. But en-route, we will have a few crashes, get burned a little. It’s inevitable. We just have to make it our duty to survive and get over all the crap that gets in our way, because we owe it to that other person in the future to

Als ik even de tijd kon laten stilstaan en mij daarin ook zou kunnen verplaatsen, dan zou ik heel snel naar je toelopen om je elke keer een beetje warmte van mijn hart te geven.

Verliefdheid rust op het roekeloze besluit verliefd te worden. Met zijn besluit had Simon de kwelling over zichzelf afgeroepen. De kwelling was masochistisch en theatraal. Het was gezocht ongeluk, zelfgeschapen wanhoop, ijdele parodie. Allemaal waar. Maar wat het ook mocht zijn, de kwelling werd er niet minder om.

The loaded phrase “se mettre en valeur” is used all the time. It means “to make the most of yourself.” This is not something the French do when they feel like it: they do it every day.

J'aimais sincèrement le mariage. J'aimais ouvrir les yeux le matin, étirer les bras et trouver ce corps chaud à côté du mien, entendre sa respiration apaisée, les yeux fermés et la bouche ouverte, un petit sentier de salive cheminant sur l'oreiller. J'aimais manger accompagné, cuisiner à deux, marcher en couple, partager une bouteille [...]. J'aimais beaucoup l'observation mutuelle, le signalement permanent des défauts de l'autre, qui comme une piqûre nécessaire, indispensable, pour dégonfler la vanité de chacun et surtout celle du macho arrogant. Je trouvais confortable la familiarité de l'odeur, des habitudes et même des tics et gestes [...]

Vaak heb ik het gevoel alsof ik alleen maar aan het wachten ben. Aan het wachten tot de wind zal komen en mij zal wegvoeren.

Alles is zo makkelijk zolang je in je eentje bent. Dan ben ik er alleen en mij kan het geen bal schelen hoe ik eruitzie of wat er binnen in mijn hoofd omgaat. Ik ben wie ik ben en dat ik oké.

No me digas que la naturaleza no es un milagro. No me digas que el mundo no es un maravilloso cuento. Quien no lo haya entendido, tal vez no lo haga hasta el momento en que el cuento esté a punto de acabar. Pues es cuando te dan la última oportunidad de quitarte las anteojeras, una última ocasión de frotarte los ojos de asombro, una última ocasión de entregarte a este milagro del que ahora te despides y al que vas a abandonar.

..., een spannende gedachte begon vorm te krijgen; de mogelijkheid om alleen te zijn, helemaal in je eentje, in alle rust en vol verwachting, bijna een soort dwaasheid die je je kunt permitteren wanneer je gezegend bent let liefde.

..., een spannende gedachte begon vorm te krijgen; de mogelijkheid om alleen te zijn, helemaal in je eentje, in alle rust en vol verwachting, bijna een soort dwaasheid die je je kunt permitteren wanneer je gezegend bent met liefde.

There’s another sense in which treating time as something that we own and get to control seems to make life worse. Inevitably, we become obsessed with “using it well,” whereupon we discover an unfortunate truth: the more you focus on using time well, the more each day begins to feel like something you have to get through, en route to some calmer, better, more fulfilling point in the future, which never actually arrives. The problem is one of instrumentalization. To use time, by definition, is to treat it instrumentally, as a means to an end, and of course we do this every day: you don’t boil the kettle out of a love of boiling kettles, or put your socks in the washing machine out of a love for operating washing machines, but because you want a cup of coffee or clean socks. Yet it turns out to be perilously easy to overinvest in this instrumental relationship to time—to focus exclusively on where you’re headed, at the expense of focusing on where you are—with the result that you find yourself living mentally in the future, locating the “real” value of your life at some time that you haven’t yet reached, and never will.

Ye Micht Hae Kinder Been I wonder, John, if ye forget The lightsome days o' youth ; Nae frown was seen then on your face. Your words were love and truth. But oh ! it's sadly changed noo Frae what I once hae seen ; It grieves my heart indeed to say, Ye're no what ye hae been. My love to you is aye the same, An' shall be to the last ; 'Mid scenes like this 'twill no' be lang Till a' my cares are past. And when I'm laid aneath the clod, An' ye come hame at e'en, Remorse may force you to confess Ye micht hae kinder been. 'Mid a' the changing scenes o' life, Its trials an' its care, Without a frown I met them a'. An' tried to tak' my share. My object was to cheer you aye When ye cam' hame at e'en. But noo its hardly in my power ― Ye micht hae kinder been. Whate'er I thought wad gie offence I tried aye to remove ; To me the hardest task seemed light When tempered doun wi' love. Your failings frae the world were hid― I tried them a' to screen ; Nae wonder, noo, I often think, Ye micht hae kinder been. James Munce (1881)

Sentimentalement, il vole d’échec en échec avec un enthousiasme intact.

Comanche Heart Quotes Read My rating: 1 of 5 stars2 of 5 stars3 of 5 stars[ 4 of 5 stars ]5 of 5 stars Comanche Heart (Comanche, #2)Comanche Heart by Catherine Anderson 4,139 ratings, 4.05 average rating, 326 reviews Open Preview Comanche Heart Quotes Showing 1-8 of 8 “Do you think courage means being fearless? Or daring? Courage, real courage, is taking three steps when it terrifies you.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart tags: courage, fear, fearless, inspirational29 likesLike Goodreads recommends Questions about Goodreads? Questions about Goodreads? Visit our Help section to find the answers you’re looking for, or let us know about your ideas to improve Goodreads. Learn More “Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I'll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I'll do it. But Please don't ask me to give you up now that I've found you again. Don't ask that, Amy” ― catherine anderson, Comanche Heart 20 likesLike “That's an L, as in love, and I love you more than I'll ever be able to tell you with words. I want to tell you in other ways. In the way I kiss you. In the way I touch you. In the way I hold you. Won't you let me say it my way, just once? - Swift to Amy” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 17 likesLike “The sadness in your heart is a yesterday you can no longer see, so put it behind you and walk always forward. Swift Antelope to Amy” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart tags: forgetting-the-past, the-past-looking-to-the-future10 likesLike “A man whose yesterdays rest on his horizon travels forward into his past. The result is that he goes a very long way to nowhere.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 10 likesLike “¿Crees que ser valiente significa no tener miedo? ¿O atreverse? El coraje, en realidad, significa dar tres pasos cuando eso te aterra” ― Catherine Anderson, Corazón comanche 7 likesLike “This was how God had intended it to be. A precious gift. A sacred oneness. I love you. He said the words in the way he held her, his rock hard arms so gentle they felt like air around her. I love you. His hands told her-not merely touching her, but worshiping her.” ― Catherine Anderson, Comanche Heart 5 likesLike “I know, but this one is important.” He cupped his hand to her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “When you lie down tonight and close your eyes to fall asleep, take me with you. If the nightmares come, dream that I’m there.” He pressed his cheek to hers. She felt wetness touch her skin. “Don’t face them alone anymore.