Long Tumblr Quotes

… our favorite Sayings from Ryke Meadows. My favorite: I fucking love you. Willow’s: I don’t fucking understand Tumblr. Lo’s: Fuck you, you fucking fuck. Lily’s: Fucking fantastic. Rose’s: No means no. Better yet, fuck no. Connor’s: Connor Cobalt is a fucking narcissist.

and if i asked you to name all the things that you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?

Were we ever that beautiful?” “You still are,” Roger told him. “Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane.” “This was definitely foreplay.” “It’s like Tumblr, the live version.” Dave chuckled. “True. But I did not see it coming.” “Maybe hurricanes affect gaydar?” “How much did you have to drink?” “Enough to pretend we can still have sex like that.

In the dark, Dave reached for Roger's hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. "Were we ever that beautiful?" "You still are," Roger told him. "Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane." "This is definitely foreplay." "It's like Tumblr, the live version.

In modern politics, liberal leaders are forgiven for drone bombing as long as they’re cool with gay marriage, while on the right, enacting policies that devastate families and stable communities was cheered on at any cost as long as it dealt a satisfying blow to the trade unions, as we saw during the Reagan and Thatcher years.

The thing is, preaching apologies becomes like the repetitive tick of a clock after so long. It dissolves into purposeless background noise. The faith of them wanes with every new confession. [He] may plate the phrase 'I'm sorry' in gold when it comes to hearing it from you, but when is he going to realize--after five years of spouting such an expression of regret--that, to you, actions are worth diamonds and clemency? That words said more than once reduce their worth, like a coin losing its shine with every new touch?

Maybe some people enter in your life to create wonderful memories before they leave. Its hard to come to terms with that whether they walk away alive or dead.The only thing we can do is keeping that person in your memory as long as you can. That person does not need to please you like a girlfriend or a boy-friend but they can make you happy.That person does not need to cherish you like parents, but they can give you warmth & they are always ready to protect you.That person does not need to make us laugh at all times like friends, but they can make you smile.That some one who you won't go into hysterics when they leave, but they will always be in your memory forever

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Maybe some people enter in your life to create wonderful memories before they leave. Its hard to come to terms with that whether they walk away alive or dead.The only thing we can do is keeping that person in your memory as long as you can. That person does not need to please you like a girlfriend or a boy-friend but they can make you happy.That person does not need to cherish you like parents, but they can give you warmth & they are always ready to protect you.That person does not need to make us laugh at all times like friends, but they can make you smile.That some one who you won't go into hysterics when they leave, but they will always be in your memory forever.

Maybe some people enter in your life to create wonderful memories before they leave. Its hard to come to terms with that whether they walk away alive or dead.The only thing we can do is keeping that person in your memory as long as you can. That person does not need to please you like a girlfriend or a boy-friend but they can make you happy.That person does not need to cherish you like parents, but they can give you warmth & they are always ready to protect you.That person does not need to make us laugh at all times like friends, but they can make you smile.That some one who you won't go into hysterics when they leave, but they will always be in your memory forever. JUVENALIUS

So long as you are in God's hands, He will not throw you away. God cannot drop you for you to be ashamed.

I have lived long enough to know that wherever there is crisis there is always Christ. Look for Jesus in the middle of all your crisis. Whenever He comes the whole storm goes down.

I have lived long enough to see God make my enemies my footstool not even footsteps.

Unanswered prayer is God’s gift … it protects us from ourselves. If all our prayers were answered we’d abuse the power … use prayer to change the world to our liking, and it would become hell on earth. Like spoiled children with too many toys and too much money, we’d grab for more. We’d pray for victory at the expense of others … intoxicated by power we’d hurt people and exalt ourselves. Isaiah said, “The LORD longs to be gracious to you … therefore He waits” (Isaiah 30:18 NASB). Unanswered prayer protects…breaks…deepens and transforms. Past unanswered prayers which left us hurt and disillusioned, act like a refiner’s fire to prepare us for future answers.’ Bottom line: pray with the right motives!

When a Dominant gains the trust and respect of their submissive they not only create an environment of desire but also safety; both physical and, perhaps most importantly, emotional. The Dominant, through their nurturing and protective (not smothering) way, makes it possible for a submissive to sense and express feelings long repressed. The Dominant enables a submissive to talk about anything, explore ideas and desires long thought to be taboo, and challenges them to be better and more in all facets of their lives. As a result, the submissive feels open, safe, energized, desirous and desired. It is this nurturing process that allows a Dominant deep inside the soul of the submissive in a way no one has ever been given access before. But once that access to the heart and mind of a submissive has been granted and that intense vulnerability exposed, she is a very fragile and delicate being that must be treated by the Dominant with considerable care, appreciation, and continued devotion. This is where many domestic partners and wannabe doms completely fall flat and do great harm. Having attained their physical desires after gaining a little access, perhaps even through outright narcissistic deceit, they turn on the submissive and use their vulnerability against them in the form of neglect, manipulation, or even abuse. Having dropped their defenses and allowed someone in, only to be trampled or ignored, the submissive is left feeling emotionally battered and cold. The walls go back up, perhaps never to come down again for the domestic partner, wannabe Dom, or any man.

The obsession with decline found on the alt-right today comes from a long conservative line of thought, who regularly drew upon books like Edward Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, the eighteenth-century text that tied Rome’s collapse to sexual decadence. Camille Paglia’s work, greatly admired by Milo, is preoccupied with this same causal link between homosexuality, promiscuity, gender fluidity and civilizational decline.

Jo March really was like: I love the people around me and I cannot cope with them leaving and being mature and appealing enough to start new chapters in their lives while I'm still clinging onto this idealized, carefree, comedy-like lifestyle I thought was going to last forever. And I really thought platonic relationships could replace my repressed longing for a romantic one, but now all my loved ones' first priorities became romance. Meanwhile, I cannot put myself out seeking a romantic relationship because that would automatically mean altering, belittling, objectifying, and compromising myself my life would become a cliche with a guaranteed unhappy ending because I feel like no one in this world could truly make me happy. And I do want to embrace my independent single lifestyle, but I guess I didn't calculate back then how lonely it's going to feel. It's like my only choice is between two kinds of unhappiness.

there’s dozens of stories about some kid from our world falling into a different, magical one, being the chosen one or the close companion of the chosen one and saving the world, and then going home where they’re delighted to see their family again and have a new appreciation of their own life. but what about someone who didn’t miss it? what if you save the world and you’re given your medal and stripped of the magic you learned and put back in a world you never missed? and you’re furious. maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what you’re supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out. but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world. but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there. (and maybe much, much later, hundreds of worlds later, you climb through a window, or a door of woven branches int he middle a field, or push aside a curtain, and as you set foot on new land you feel the fire in your veins and sparks at your fingertips and finally, finally, you’re home)