Lite Life Quotes

When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer. To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole life story, the light side and the dark. In admitting my shadow side I learn who I am and what God's grace means. As Thomas Merton put it, "A saint is not someone who is good but who experiences the goodness of God." The gospel of grace nullifies our adulation of televangelists, charismatic superstars, and local church heroes. It obliterates the two-class citizenship theory operative in many American churches. For grace proclaims the awesome truth that all is gift. All that is good is ours not by right but by the sheer bounty of a gracious God. While there is much we may have earned--our degree and our salary, our home and garden, a Miller Lite and a good night's sleep--all this is possible only because we have been given so much: life itself, eyes to see and hands to touch, a mind to shape ideas, and a heart to beat with love. We have been given God in our souls and Christ in our flesh. We have the power to believe where others deny, to hope where others despair, to love where others hurt. This and so much more is sheer gift; it is not reward for our faithfulness, our generous disposition, or our heroic life of prayer. Even our fidelity is a gift, "If we but turn to God," said St. Augustine, "that itself is a gift of God." My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.

One of the first lessons a necromancer learns is the art of playing dumb. Of course, one problem with playing dumb is that is seeps into your everyday life. ~Jaime Vegas

some days are too familiar to understand why some days my life is a story i’ve told a thausand times & some days the story moves backwards

i always love the moment where the desert gives way to the mountains, because it reminds me that the highest peaks are borne of the lowest valleys, that the radical only exists in proximity to the mundane, because life can only be viewed relative to its opposite.

Once you’ve truly forgiven someone, wipe the slate clean. So often we form judgments about people and then, no matter what they do, we see them through the lens of that judgment. Which means we’re just waiting for them to piss us off again. Which means we’re still in the Forvginess-lite stage; we’re pretending we’re cool but we’re really still holding on to some resentment. Release all expectations, let everyone off the hook, treat people as a blank slate over and over again, expect only the best from them regardless of what they’ve done in the past

Take note and give thanks for all the good things present in your life.

And for the glorious honor of being bitched at constantly and the esteemed title of Claims Investigator, he’d given up five years of his life as he went to college, created a debt his great-grandkids would curse him over, and got the holy honor of MBA. More Bullshit Allowed. (Zeke)

När Fredrikson avlöste mig vid rodret i gryningen nämnde jag i förbigående Joxarens förvånande och fullkomliga brist på intresse för omgivningen. Hm, sade Fredrikson. Kanske han tvärtom bryr sig om allting? Lite lugnt och lagom. Vi bryr oss om en enda sak. Du vill bli. Jag vill göra. Mitt brorsbarn vill ha. Men Joxaren bara lever.

I'm violently in love with you. I bleed for you." His voice caught. "Before you I was lost. Before you life was gray." "And now?" "Color." He gripped my chin, "Brown eyes, chocolate hair, smile like sunshine." His lips met mine for a soft kiss, "You're the one sacrificing when you're with me. You have to understand that when I look at us, it's like this." "Like what?" I looked around the bedroom. "What do you mean?" "This." He motioned between us. "You're always on higher ground, you're the savior, pulling me out of the dark abyss. You're the lifeline.

A Poem I Like: With a hand that is greater than mine she gently makes my coarse life fine and all the reasons that meant the world evaporate like smoke unfurled. How can one so lacking force house the heart where dwells the source of power which turns the darkness lite turns deadly games to lover's rites by Jack Edison

Many American women over forty are not worried about their wrinkles and don’t give a rat’s ass about enhancing them. There’s this scientific fact called gravity. Gravity happens to us all, men and women. Some women and men over forty spend money fighting gravity with cosmetics and cosmetic surgery. That’s their ball game. That’s their parade. More power to them. There was once this woman named Gertrude Stein. She was the aesthetic opposite of Marilyn Monroe. I never knew Ms. Stein but from what I’ve read about her life I would venture to say that she was approximately (there’s no way of measuring such things…well, there are a couple of ways) a million times happier than Marilyn Monroe. Sexy on the outside doesn’t do much for ugly on the inside. This isn’t to say that Marilyn Monroe was ugly on the inside. I’m sure she was really fucking gorgeous on the inside, too. Bottom line: sparkle on the INSIDE can enhance ANYTHING on the outside.

I know there’s Godwin’s Law, and the notion that the moment Hitler is invoked in an argument, the argument is lost. So I won’t compare Trump to Hitler. He’s more Hitler-Lite. Although if it came down to a decision between Trump and Cruz over whose hand I would prefer on the nuclear button, I’d have to go with Trump. The man’s rich. He obviously relishes the pleasures of this life. Cruz is a religious fanatic who thinks there’s a better time awaiting in the sky. He’s in a hurry to get to the next world, so why not blow this one up. For

It has often been said that the most common idols in the West are Power, Sex, and Money; with this I am not in any profound disagreement. However, inasmuch as these idols are connected to a larger vision of life, such as the American dream, or the inalienable rights of free people, they become part of a nation’s civil religion. I would contend, in fact, that the most alluring and dangerous deity in the United States is the omnipresent, syncretistic god of nationalism mixed with Christianity lite: religious beliefs, language, and practices that are superficially Christian but infused with national myths and habits. Sadly, most of this civil religion’s practitioners belong to Christian churches, which is precisely why Revelation is addressed to the seven churches (not to Babylon), to all Christians tempted by the civil cult.

Cooking for Life shuns all things caloric and fatty, so this version of boeuf bourguignon will not include bacon or pancetta as it should, nor will I use even half as much olive oil as I'd like to. I will increase the wine, and it'll be pretty good beef stew without the potatoes, essentially, which will delight Uncle Benny when I take him his casserole dish tonight. It certainly won't hurt me to eat gourmet lite for dinner, I think, then shake my head to clear it. It's amazing how one five-minute conversation with my mother can undo every affirmation I've ever taped to my bathroom mirror. After giving the beef another poke or two, I scrub the cutting board in the dish-crowded sink, then chop and stir in carrots, celery, and onions. I mince fresh thyme and Italian parsley for flavor and color, pour in defatted beef stock, then leave it to simmer for a while, the individual aromas already commingling and filling the apartment.

Althorpe threw open a set of heavy double doors to reveal the spacious in-house movie theater, furnished with about twenty high-end leather couches and captains’ seats that had their own tables for snacks. Lacey and I were agog. The Cubs—my Cubs—were about to play for their lives on the wall of Buckingham Palace. “An immense moment demands an immense screen,” came Eleanor’s voice. When she rose with some effort from her seat, I blinked. It looked familiar. But it couldn’t be. “Eleanor,” I said, dropping all formality. “Is that…?” “A Coucherator,” she said. “Nicholas spoke to your mother and had one flown in. There is a treat in it for you.” She opened the refrigerated compartment of my dad’s life’s work, so roundly mocked by the British press and Eleanor alike. Inside was a perfectly chilled case of Miller Lite. It was only then that I noticed a side table stuffed with Cracker Jack, Doritos, Pop-Tarts, and hot dog condiments. “Althorpe will deliver the tube meat momentarily,” Eleanor said.

It's possible to see how much the brand culture rubs off on even the most sceptical employee. Joanne Ciulla sums up the dangers of these management practices: 'First, scientific management sought to capture the body, then human relations sought to capture the heart, now consultants want tap into the soul... what they offer is therapy and spirituality lite... [which] makes you feel good, but does not address problems of power, conflict and autonomy.'¹0 The greatest success of the employer brand' concept has been to mask the declining power of workers, for whom pay inequality has increased, job security evaporated and pensions are increasingly precarious. Yet employees, seduced by a culture of approachable, friendly managers, told me they didn't need a union - they could always go and talk to their boss. At the same time, workers are encouraged to channel more of their lives through work - not just their time and energy during working hours, but their social life and their volunteering and fundraising. Work is taking on the roles once played by other institutions in our lives, and the potential for abuse is clear. A company designs ever more exacting performance targets, with the tantalising carrot of accolades and pay increases to manipulate ever more feverish commitment. The core workforce finds itself hooked into a self-reinforcing cycle of emotional dependency: the increasing demands of their jobs deprive them of the possibility of developing the relationships and interests which would enable them to break their dependency. The greater the dependency, the greater the fear of going cold turkey - through losing the job or even changing the lifestyle. 'Of all the institutions in society, why let one of the more precarious ones supply our social, spiritual and psychological needs? It doesn't make sense to put such a large portion of our lives into the unsteady hands of employers,' concludes Ciulla. Life is work, work is life for the willing slaves who hand over such large chunks of themselves to their employer in return for the paycheque. The price is heavy in the loss of privacy, the loss of autonomy over the innermost workings of one's emotions, and the compromising of authenticity. The logical conclusion, unless challenged, is capitalism at its most inhuman - the commodification of human beings.

Once you’ve truly forgiven someone, wipe the slate clean. So often we form judgments about people and then, no matter what they do, we see them through the lens of that judgment. Which means we’re just waiting for them to piss us off again. Which means we’re still in the Forgiveness-lite stage; we’re pretending we’re cool but we’re really still holding on to some resentment. Release all expectations, let everyone off the hook, treat people as a blank slate over and over again, expect only the best from them regardless of what they’ve done in the past and you may be surprised. What you focus on, you create more of, and if you keep expecting people to annoy you they will not let you down. Focus on their finer points and encourage their good behavior if you want to create more of it.

In genom tunneln av oskrivna regler, framåt till höger, tunnelbana till vänster. Invandrartjejer med hål så man ser rumpskinn pratar högljutt i mobil. Han undrar vad värdfolket tänker. De med lite mera klass som önskar bo på Östermalm men istället hamnar i Solna bär istället svarta kläder med eventuell grå detalj, silverörhängen och aldrig guld. Inte som turkarna. Dyra stora väskor slängda över axeln, senaste modet från årets sista rea. Klack klack klack låter det i väggarna och studsar tillbaka. Rumpor som svänger snabbt genom tunneln, man måste hålla tempot även om man inget har. Storstadsfolket tittar konstigt på en man som går för långsamt. Hemresan närmar sig snabbt men dagen är ännu lång. Mörkret har fallit men sömnen inträder inte än på mycket länge. Det är en välsignelse att vara stressad, tänker han och ser på människorna som skyndar förbi honom. De bildar två väggar på båda sidor av hans kropp. Men människorna runt honom är som av ett annat släkte, han vet det. Han känner det. I cirklar ut med hans kropp tänks tankar som är så långt ifrån hans verklighet trots att de trampar samma mark, sitter på samma säten, går i samma trappor. Timmarna rusar och ögonen flackar. Det tänks andra tankar, annorlunda tankar, runt i en massa av virvlande ord. Andra ord, annorlunda ord och satser och fraser och uttryck, pulserande i cirklar runt hans runda kropp: Köra en lunchsandwich med surdegsbröd på vägen och småspringa med svettpärlor i pannan i pannan till tuben. Torka svett och titta oroligt på sin smartphone. Ta ett telefonsamtal i väntan på grön gubbe, en latte i handen efter en snabblunch med en gammal kursare. Catcha upp, hänga ut, ta en öl en fika en promenad mellan 17:15 och 18:30, dra till SATS på ett pass och sen dimpa ner i tevesoffan jävligt nöjd. Storstadsslammer och stadsbor, den nya människan ställer sig i ledet. Bo i trång etta, gå på dejt med blonderad ekonom, raka pung, noppa unibrow och scrubba med facewashen. Ta en öl på uteserveringen under sommarmånader. Springa till bussen, ta väskan på cykeln och kavla upp byxbenet. Slänga yogamattan över axeln och svära över tågens försening. Traska rastlöst fram och tillbaka över perrongen, trampa sig svettig på cykeln för att man snoozat för länge. Stressen, tänker han där han svänger av mot spärrarna, det är Guds gåva till människan. (Sid. 165-6)

Guinness: the only way to drink lite beer without looking gay

Passion of fire, passion of soft, Gentle the flame burns as millions of stars lite, Heart speaks to them of caring and of each other sharing, Richer for the feel and stronger of love of where you of Angels sit. Love of life, love of spirit, Gentle and strong the flame of heavens hold, The hold invisible but keeps us as one, For love of such bright the flame will always hold. Spirit of the soul, spirit of yourself Wide and precious the flame as mornings dew, Place it sees in itself, beauty it itself posses, I see you I feel you as you make me new.

Serves 10 to 12 1 onion, chopped 1 small head of garlic, all cloves chopped or pressed 8 ounces mushrooms, sliced 1 head broccoli, chopped 2 carrots, chopped 2 red bell peppers, seeded and chopped 1 can corn, rinsed and drained 1 package Silken Lite tofu ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon oregano 1 teaspoon basil 1 teaspoon rosemary 2 jars pasta sauce (see E2-Approved Foods) 2 boxes whole grain lasagna noodles 16 ounces frozen spinach, thawed and drained 2 sweet potatoes, cooked and mashed 6 roma tomatoes, sliced thin 1 cup raw cashews, ground

Determine what your top priorities in life are and keep aside sufficient time for them in your schedule.

Form a clear mental vision of your ideal life before you start taking action to achieve it.

While there is much we may have earned--our degree and our salary, our home and garden, a Miller Lite and a good night's sleep--all this is possible only because we have been given so much: life itself, eyes to see and hands to touch, a mind to shape ideas, and a heart to beat with love. We have been given God in our souls and Christ in our flesh. We have the power to believe where others deny, to hope where others despair, to love where others hurt. This and so much more is sheer gift

Not long after that, the questions came: Why you? Drag had been around forever. Why had I been able to crack the code after so many false starts and almosts? But I knew they would never understand the delicate choreography I’d done to make it all work. I’d mastered the art of naughty-lite: two spoonfuls of Diana Ross, a pinch of Cher, a shake of Dolly Parton, all sealed with Walt Disney’s family-friendliness. Before, I had been blurry—confusing, a thing that only some people could understand. Finally, I had snapped into focus, just in time for the whole world to see. The eighties, with all its excess and opulence, had also been marred by darkness: the heaviness of crack cocaine, the AIDS epidemic, the crashes of S&Ls in the markets. There was a yearning for levity in the culture, the very same irreverence and sense of play that had animated me my whole life. A window opened. I stepped through it.

When we ask, “How are you?” we are generally met with the equally flat “Not too bad.” The whole thing becomes a go-nowhere “connection-lite” interaction. If I reached out and asked you right now, “How is the state of your heart, in this breath?” I’m already connected to you.

Bright light can never be over powered by darkness even in the blackest moment of death there will always be lite shining with GOD for every death in life a star is born in the sky the one promise that is forever in life a new door always opens when one door closes you will always have a key to unlock any door you open a forever promise from GOD for eternal life on earth or your heavenly life you will never be seperated from the ones you love and they loved only a new message will be sent by air mail heavens wind always blows for the ones that have given there last breath GOD

BRIGHT LIGHT CAN NEVER BE OVER POWERED BY DARKNESS EVEN IN THE MOMENT OF BLACKEST DEATH THERE WILL ALWAYS BE LIFE A LITE WILL FOR EVER SHINE WITH GOD FOR EVERY DEATH A STAR IS BORN IN THE SKY THE A FOREVER PROMISE FOR ETERNA LIFE FOR EVERY CLOSED DOOR A NEW ONE OPENS YOU WILL HOLD THE KEY TO UNLOCK EACH DOOR IN LIFE ON EARTH AND YOUR HEAVENLY LIFE YOU WILL NEVER BE SEPERATED FROM THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE AND THOSE THAT LOVE YOU THE ONLY ONE THAT BREATHES FRESH AIR INTO YOUR SOUL TO RECIEVE ONLY A NEW MESSAGE LIFE HAS NO END FOR GOD"S PROMISES NEVER LIE HIS WIND WILL CONTINUE TO BLOW EVEN AFTER YOUR LAST BREATH IS TAKEN A WORLD WITH NO END

I fully enjoyed “Imagineer Your Future” by Les LaMotte. This is a wonderful manual with an underlying Christian base that teaches how anyone can learn the principles of becoming an “Imagineer” like Les. The book begins by explaining the author’s own spiritual, life, and career journey that produced in him an Imagineer mindset. His grandfathers specific teaching the principles of a simple kite that in 50 years turned into his Xtra Lite Display System with five US patents and several international that opened sales in over 36 countries. The author explains, “To call yourself an Imagineer means you lead a complex life, schooled in enlightenment and problem solving with many hundreds of ideas of the past, present, and future technology, all while living your life in various stages of your own growth, development, and experience.” This creative and colorful book filled with photographs and illustrations has 20 sections ranging from important principles gleaned from childhood to helping the reader take necessary self assessments before launching into higher education without a well thought through plan. These sections are color coded using side tabs and there are vertical chapter titles present that allow the reader to quickly comb through the concepts and chapters that are most relevant to them. Dollar icons are present throughout to indicate where an Excel sheet is available to download free on LaMotte’s website. An Imagineer symbol targets areas of specific learning opportunities. To make this process even easier, the reader is provided with fill in the blank lists and links to online Core Passion assessments so they can discover their actual motivations in light of their gifts and how to apply their five top core passions to complete their own Imagineer journey. I really enjoyed how the author weaves his own experiences throughout each section and the heartfelt mentions of well known individuals that have Imagineered throughout recent and ongoing history. Les provides his own amazing pointers on how to stay on the path to leading a fulfilling life of an Imagineer. If you are looking for a cross between a creative and easy to understand manual on becoming an Imagineer and a heartfelt journey traveling the road to success this is the choice for you.

For a long, long time in Western science and medicine, women’s sexuality was viewed as Men’s Sexuality Lite—basically the same but not quite as good. For instance, it was just sort of assumed that since men have orgasms during penis-in-vagina sex (intercourse), women should have orgasms with intercourse too, and if they don’t, it’s because they’re broken. In reality, about 30 percent of women orgasm reliably with intercourse. The other 70 percent sometimes, rarely, or never orgasm with intercourse, and they’re all healthy and normal. A woman might orgasm lots of other ways—manual sex, oral sex, vibrators, breast stimulation, toe sucking, pretty much any way you can imagine—and still not orgasm during intercourse. That’s normal.

Happy people are energy-rich. They subject their anxieties to the authority of reason, oppose them through a spirit of compromise, and diminish them by living in peace. It allows them ease of progress in every endeavor, and they naturally do what should be done without the energy erosion accompanied by inner resistance and panic. They have an ability to accept objective solutions, as their assumptions are prejudice-lite.

She looks up at me with misty eyes. ‘Talking of boys- are you eager about tonight?’ ‘About what?’ I say acting like I don't know what is going to go down, or don’t even know what she’s talking about. I play dumb! Her words are all running past me, faster than how she drives, everything is distorted together. Jenny always talks like that when she gets upset. Her words go into overdrive. I’m holding on to the bedpost, trying not to fall over, or on top of Jenny, I would love to sit down yet, Jenny is hogging up my single bed. She said- ‘I think you should back up with Ray or do him already.’ She throws me a condom from her purse. I said- ‘Who do you think would be my type then?’ ‘You, Marcel, some worm Bud Lite, and his Star Wars sheets. OMG that would be perfect and she giggles. ‘How romantic,’ she shouted. Though, I was thinking OMG Jenny you’re always right. Like it would be so romantic, yet little did she know I felt that way, already… I never realized how much of a weirdo I am. I have fallen to a complete nerd, on the outside, I have completely changed, but on the inside, I am one too! We all try to be something we're not in high school, even Jenny has everyone fooled. Nevertheless, the ones that seem the most put together are the ones that are falling apart the most. No one’s life is as good as it seems, and it’s even worse when you’re like Jull’s and Madilyn that have us throwing crap in their faces. I stand here feeling like such an ass hole, not even hearing what Jenny is rambling on about, because it’s nonsense, compared to what I have done in my thoughts. -White teeth teens are out- #- Hashtag: (unperfect girls, the charmed life, we want real love) I go pee one last time, and Jenny flows me in the bathroom and sits on the edge of the tube looking at me as I go. Then after I got up, she went, I was thinking like we didn’t need to do this together, yet how Jenny is we have to do everything together. That is when my sis walks into my room and says- ‘I have to Ba-bath Karly, would I get my stuff Re-ready and help me take a bath?’ I try to close the door saying get mom to bath you, but she wedges her hand in at the last minute and pushes into the bathroom.

being vague and gospel-lite in congregational songs is not the way to be "seeker friendly." Communicating the gospel in a way that informs the mind and engages the emotions is. The gospel is the church's central lyrical distinctive.

For the next two hours, he would toy with her, giving her a chance to repent. Whether she did or not made no difference. He fingered the knife in his pocket. The blade was sharp and tonight she would feel it. Her time would run out an hour before sunrise. As with the others, he would weigh down her body with a cement block. Barely alive, she would struggle against death as they all had. The water would fill her lungs. The last thing she would see on this earth would be his eyes, the eyes of her murderer. How long would it take before her family, her friends reported her missing? A day, possibly two? Surely no longer. Then the search would begin. He would watch the news reports, recording them all on his DVR. In a week or two, some tourist or jogger would spot a floater in the Potomac. All evidence washed away, she would be just another woman executed by the D.C. Killer. He would add her disc to his collection. He whiled away the time thinking about his first kill. She had lounged in her bath, thinking she was alone. When he entered the bathroom, she smiled. The expression on his face made her smile falter. He came at her, grasping her by the shoulders. He pushed her down, holding her struggling body under. Her eyes wide with terror, she tried to plead with her murderer, to ask her husband “Why?” He sank her body in the Potomac, the first victim of the D.C. Killer. The door opened. Shannon Miller stood in the breach, surveying the parking lot. Nervous, she started to go back inside, then changed her mind. She peered toward him, her eyes straining to penetrate the mist and gloom. He was a shadow, invisible to her. Seeing no threat, she stepped out, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap-tap of her high heels pulsated on the cracked asphalt. The beat of her shoes matched the throb of his heart. He could hear her heavy, fearful breathing. He smiled. The moon scurried behind the clouds as if hiding its face in horror. He was an avenger, a messenger of God. His mission was to rid the nation's capital of immoral women. Fearing him, prostitutes now walked the streets in pairs. Even in their terror, they still pursued their wicked trade. At times he saw them huddled in groups of three or four. They reminded him of children in a thunderstorm. Like a spirit, he crept in her direction. The only light was cast by the Miller Lite sign and a distant street lamp. The light in the parking lot had burned out weeks ago, throwing it into darkness. He stalked her as a lion does its prey. He moved slowly, silently, low to the ground, keeping the car between them. His dark running suit blended with the night. He was the Dark Angel, the Angel of Death. In another life, he had passed over Egypt, killing the firstborn of those condemned by God. Her eyes darted in every direction, still she didn't see him. He was invisible. Her hands shook as she tried to get the key in the door. The 11 o'clock news reported that another one had been found. If he stuck with his pattern, the D.C. Killer would strike again tonight. By morning a woman would be dead. She prayed it wouldn’t be her. She fumbled, dropping the key ring. She stooped to pick it up, her head turning in every direction, her ears alert to every sound. Now, without seeing him, she sensed him. She lowered her eyes, trying again, successfully this time. She turned the key. There was a click. She sighed, unaware that she had been holding her breath. The dome light flashed as she opened the door. He was on her in an instant. Their bodies slammed against the door. The light blinked out. He held her in an iron grip with one hand over her mouth and the blade poking into her

So, imagine we're all born with a set of feelings. Some are broader or deeper than others, but for everyone, there's that ground floor, a bottom crust of the pie. That's the maximum depth of feeling you've ever experienced. And then, the worst thing happens to you. The very worst thing that could have happened. The thing you had nightmares about as a child, and you thought, it's all right because that thing will happen to me when I'm older and wiser, and I'll have telt so many feelings by then that this one worst feeling, the worst possible feeling won't seem so terrible. *But it happens to you when you're young. It happens when your brain isn't even fully done cooking when you've barely experienced anything, really. The worst thing is one of the first big things that ever happens to you in your life. It happens to you, and it goes all the way down to the bottom of what you know how to feel, and it rips it open and carves out this chasm down below to make room. And because you were so young, and because it was one of the first big things to happen in your lite, you'll always carry it inside you. Every time something terrible happens to you from then on, it doesn't just stop at the bottom - it goes all the way down." She reaches across the tiny tea table and the sad little pile of water crackers and touches the back of Alex's hand "Do you understand?" she asks him, looking right into his eyes. "You need to understand this to be with Henry. He is the most loving, nurturing, selfless person you could hope to meet, but there is a sadness and a hurt in him that is tremendous, and you may very well never truly understand it, but you need to love it as much as you love the rest of him, because thare him. That is him, part and parce. And he is prepared to live it all to you, which is far more than I ever, in a thousand years, thought I would see him do.

So, imagine we're all born with a set of feelings. Some are broader or deeper than others, but for everyone, there's that ground floor, a bottom crust of the pie. That's the maximum depth of feeling you've ever experienced. And then, the worst thing happens to you. The very worst thing that could have happened. The thing you had nightmares about as a child, and you thought, it's all right because that thing will happen to me when I'm older and wiser, and I'll have telt so many feelings by then that this one worst feeling, the worst possible feeling won't seem so terrible. *But it happens to you when you're young. It happens when your brain isn't even fully done cooking when you've barely experienced anything, really. The worst thing is one of the first big things that ever happens to you in your life. It happens to you, and it goes all the way down to the bottom of what you know how to feel, and it rips it open and carves out this chasm down below to make room. And because you were so young, and because it was one of the first big things to happen in your lite, you'll always carry it inside you. Every time something terrible happens to you from then on, it doesn't just stop at the bottom - it goes all the way down." She reaches across the tiny tea table and the sad little pile of water crackers and touches the back of Alex's hand "Do you understand?" she asks him, looking right into his eyes. "You need to understand this to be with Henry. He is the most loving, nurturing, selfless person you could hope to meet, but there is a sadness and a hurt in him that is tremendous, and you may very well never truly understand it, but you need to love it as much as you love the rest of him, because that's him. That is him, part and parce. And he is prepared to live it all to you, which is far more than I ever, in a thousand years, thought I would see him do.