Monroe Body Quotes

The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up.

A l'intérieur de ce corps vivait l'âme d'une intellectuelle et poète dont personne n'avait le soupçon. Within this body lived the soul of an intellectual and poet, which nobody had suspected.

We were scared. I guess when you're in your twenties, that's how it is. You've got an adult body, but you're trying to make it work with a kid's emotions. With Marilyn and me, it was worse. Our kid emotions didn't even work. We'd been treated too poorly.

I’m Bradley Monroe, Tam’s man and Ellie’s father. I don’t share what’s mine, so unless I’m misreading your body language you might want to check yourself around my family,” Brad growls

Always know and remember that you are more than your physical body.

The supermind knows unquestionably what is “right,” and problems result only when the conscious mind stubbornly refuses to recognize this superior knowledge. The

Age is real life is short. It's foolhardy to deny it. We grow up, our bodies grow frail, death is coming. There's so much I want to do! There's a whole world out there I havent seen, ppl I havent met and who havent know me. God, there 're a million books I want to read. I dont want to sleep... I want to be awake. This is my life - I want to live it

No, but I wouldn’t turn them down if they both wanted to ravage my body.” Candy tossed her long hair over her shoulder.

To all the girls that think you’re ugly because you’re not a size 0, you’re the beautiful one. It’s society who’s ugly.

Fuck love, Monroe. Love is nothing. You can feel love for anyone. What I feel for you is pain. Knowing that a part of my fucking soul is living outside of my body and now that I’ve found it, I’ll die if I ever lose it. That’s what we have. Love is a shadowed imitation for people unlucky enough to never find their soulmates. What we have is everything.

Adam arrived at 735 Monroe Street prepared for the woman to be a bit skittish. After all, she'd run from him earlier, obviously intimidated by his overwhelming masculinity and epic sexuality. Women often had that reaction to him, especially when he was stripping off his pants. Or kilt, depending on the century. He was also prepared, however, for her inhibitions to drop swiftly, as did all women's when they got a good, close-up look at him. After that, many simply launched themselves at him in a full-frontal assault of sexual frenzy. He'd been entertaining himself with just that possibility, his entire body tight with lust, while tracking her down with the information he'd obtained int he room called "Human Resources" at Little & Staller. But nothing in his vast repertoire of experience had prepared him for Gabrielle O'Callaghan. The bloodthirsty little hellion didn't react like any woman he'd ever encountered. She took one horrified look at him, drew back her arm, hauled off, and smashed him in the face with some kind of satchel she was holding. Then slammed the door and locked it. Leaving him on the doorstep, bleeding. Bleeding, by Danu, blood trickling from his lip!

The white saucer like some full moon descends At last from the clouds of the table above; She sighs and dreams and thrills and glows, Transfigured with love. She nestles over the shining rim, Buries her chin in the creamy sea; Her tail hangs loose; each drowsy paw Is doubled under each bending knee. A long, dim ecstasy holds her life; Her world is an infinite shapeless white, Till her tongue has curled the last holy drop, Then she sinks back into the night, Draws and dips her body to heap Her sleepy nerves in the great arm-chair, Lies defeated and buried deep Three or four hours unconscious there.

I knew with or without my consent she officially just crowned herself my queen.

You can’t just storm the castle, demand a crown, and sit on the king like a throne.

Despite how horrifying today had been, my knees trembled when his warm body bucked softly against me. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he gave one of those half-smiles only very hot guys could master.

From the first time I set eyes on Marilyn, I thought she was just wonderful. On the silver screen, her lovely skin and platinum hair were luminescent and fantastic. I loved the fantasy of it. In the fifties, when I grew up. Marilyn was an enormous star, but there was such a double standard. The fact that she was such a hot number meant that many middle-class women looked down on her as a slut. And since the publicity machine behind her sold her as a sex idol, she wasn’t valued as a comedic actor or given credit for her talent. I never felt that way about her, obviously. I felt that Marilyn was also playing a character, the proverbial dumb blonde with the little-girl voice and big-girl body, and that there was a lot of smarts behind the act. My character in Blondie was partly a visual homage to Marilyn, and partly a statement about the good old double standard.

Like I said, he’s my cousin. His name is Charlie Dupree.” Joe wiped his brow. Anxiety was taking over his thoughts and every inch of his body. He was living his worst nightmare—being on the wrong side of McKinley Moore. “He wants in, huh? Does he have any skills?

She closed her eyes as his full weight stretched over her. They fit together perfectly and as they clung together her woman's body felt that at last she had found the man's bones from which she'd been created, and she was overcome with desire to become one flesh.

My father has a name for my temper: he calls her the dragon. I hoard my hurts like gold and jewels, sleeping on them until someone wakes me up. Then, when she’s awoken (for example, by a big clod of a man), the mythical beast spreads her wings inside my body, scales scraping against the inside of my skin, reminding me of all the reasons I’m angry.

We had no idea that sounds existed beyond the range of human hearing until we developed instruments to detect, measure, and create them. Until comparatively recently, those who claimed they could hear what others could not were considered insane or persecuted as witches and sorcerers. We were able to perceive the electromagnetic spectrum only in terms of heat and light until the last century. We are still unaware of the capacity of the human brain, an electrochemical organism, in terms of transmission and reception of electromagnetic radiation. With this gap unbridged, it is easy to understand why modern science has not begun to consider the ability of the human mind to penetrate an area where no serious theory has been promulgated.

March 9: With Schenck’s help, Marilyn obtains a contract with Columbia Pictures for $125 a week. The studio puts her up at the Hotel Bel-Air. Ed Cronenwerth shoots her in various exercise positions, toning and stretching her body. She is also shown seated on steps, her right elbow on her raised right thigh and her right hand on her chin next to the sign “Los Angeles City Limits.” He also photographs makeup sessions. Marilyn applies lipstick, looking into a hand-held mirror, and is shot sitting while Helen Hunt styles her hair.

Um… no reason in particular except that it’s cow country and less populated.” Both men grinned. “To be honest, Mr. Moore, thirty miles north is like being in a different country. All that’s around the area are fields where farmers on tractors are plowing something with shit-smelling fertilizer. We found a flat, straight road where we could see for miles in each direction. There wasn’t any traffic, so we pulled over, yanked out the bodies, and dumped them in a deep ditch. We unrolled them from the shrink wrap and left them there.

Know that by the very nature of your earth-time existence you are learning lessons daily. Life is how you perceive it. Live each day on the tiptoes of excitement. And know that everything in the universe is good, even the hardest experiences, and everything is working toward your evolvement. Go with the flow of life, and do not resist your lessons. Give everything away that you receive. You will find that what you receive in return is a greater understanding of your oneness with all. All is one, and one is all. Know this from the knowing level.

Dude, wait until you see the hot little number on there!” He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “What are you talking about? Aren’t all flight attendant’s middle-aged, blonde women?” “Not this one. She’s feisty too, kneed me right in the balls.” I smiled, and it was actually genuine. I wondered if he was fucking with me. But, it was enough to peak my curiosity. I slowly walked towards the plane wondering if it was going to be a grandma, or something. It wouldn’t be the first time. I really hoped that it wasn’t some die-hard groupie either. As soon as I reached the top of the stairs I almost tripped and fell on my face when I got my first look at her. She was gorgeous! She looked like she walked straight off of a pin-up girl calendar. She had long, black hair with strands of hot pink. I appraised my way down her body. She had a slim waist and curvy hips. She was built like an hourglass. I noticed a couple of sexy facial piercings. She had an adorable little nose and big brown eyes. Then I saw a tattoo peeking out on her shoulder. I could tell that she had a chest piece. I was instantly hard. Awesome…

There is a special purpose in nature for every being, and that purpose is to live in the fullness of your own creativity. As you are released into this fulfillment, you will know nothing but great joy and love. If every being does what it should be doing, working and sharing for the growth and good of all, it will live in the highest of its energy levels. If human beings get too caught up in their own selves and their own selfish fulfillments, they lose the sense of joy and accomplishment that comes with being in tune and in touch with all aspects of nature.

When a Single Glance Can Cost a Million Dollars Under conditions of stress, the human body responds in predictable ways: increased heart rate, pupil dilation, perspiration, fine motor tremors, tics. In high-pressure situations, such as negotiating an employment package or being cross-examined under oath, no matter how we might try to play it cool, our bodies give us away. We broadcast our emotional state, just as Marilyn Monroe broadcast her lust for President Kennedy. We each exhibit a unique and consistent pattern of stress signals. For those who know how to read such cues, we’re essentially handing over a dictionary to our body language. Those closest to us probably already recognize a few of our cues, but an expert can take it one step further, and closely predict our actions. Jeff “Happy” Shulman is one such expert. Happy is a world-class poker player. To achieve his impressive winnings, he’s spent much of his life mastering mystique. At the highest level of play, winning depends not merely on skill, experience, statistics, or even luck with the cards, but also on an intimate understanding of human nature. In poker, the truth isn’t written just all over your face. The truth is written all over your body. Drops of Sweat, a Nervous Blink, and Other “Tells” Tournament poker is no longer a game of cards, but a game of interpretation, deception, and self-control. In an interview, Happy says that memorizing and recognizing your opponent’s nuances can be more decisive than luck or skill. Imperceptible gestures can reveal a million dollars’ worth of information. Players call these gestures “tells.” With a tell, a player unintentionally exposes his thoughts and intentions to the rest of the table. The ability to hide one’s tells—and conversely, to read the other players’ tells—offers a distinct advantage. At the amateur level, tells are simpler. Feet and legs are the biggest moving parts of your body, so skittish tapping is a dead giveaway. So is looking at a hand of cards and smiling, or rearranging cards with quivering fingertips. But at the professional level, tells would be almost impossible for you or me to read. Happy spent his career learning how to read these tells. “If you know what the other player is going to do, it’s easier to defend against it.” Like others competing at his level, Happy might prepare for a major tournament by spending hours reviewing tapes of his competitors’ previous games in order to instantly translate their tells during live competition.

There is a special purpose in nature for every being, and that purpose is to live in the fullness of your own creativity.

Richard Avedon photographs Marilyn, her torso covered in feathers (her sexual plumage) and wearing high heels, her left leg bent and brought up to her body so that the leg projects outward horizontally. Her right arm stretches out diagonally and clutches a fan, and her head is tilted right with her eyes half closed and her mouth wide open, suggesting the dynamism of her erotic allure. Another Avedon shot shows her in a spangled dress. She wraps herself in a silver fur stole that seems almost to waft out of the frame in her extended right arm, while her left hand touches her shoulder and she projects one of those dreamy poses with half-closed eyes—although this time with a closed mouth that suggests a little more mystery and not quite so much availability.

February 9: Gladys enters Rockhaven Sanitarium. Marilyn pays $250 a month to support her mother. Marilyn is honored as “A Rising Star” at the Photoplay Awards Dinner at the Crystal Room of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Sidney Skolsky accompanies her after Joe DiMaggio refuses to do so. Her gold lamé dress causes a sensation. Columnist Florabel Muir writes that the dress seems painted onto Marilyn’s body and is so striking (photographs of it are often reproduced) that Joan Crawford and Lana Turner were hardly noticed at the event.

It’s call a Triquetra, the balance of the mind, body and spirit. A Celtic symbol. - Evan

February 8: Marilyn does her “black sitting” session with Milton Greene. Marilyn poses in black hat and fishnet stockings, her face partially in shadow. She also appears in a shot where she lies down, her left leg extended in the air, as she covers part of her face with her hands. She also kneels, drink in hand, smiling. She props herself up with her arms and draws her knees into her body, with half her face in the dark—a study in moody bifurcation. Greene’s photographs will eventually punctuate the text of Norman Mailer’s Of Women and Their Elegance. In the evening Marilyn, wearing a white fur coat over a low-cut dress, long black gloves, and jeweled earrings that stretch all the way down her neck, attends the premiere of Middle of the Night, a Paddy Chayefsky play directed by Josh Logan.

February 26: Picture Week features a smiling Marilyn in black-and-white, dressed casually in a loose blouse, resting the right side of her face on her hands and her upper body on her elbows. “A Glimpse into Marilyn’s Future” is the promising headline. Joe DiMaggio takes Marilyn to a birthday party for Jackie Gleason at Toots Shor’s restaurant. Marilyn is photographed signing autographs, laughing with Gleason and DiMaggio, and with a very satisfied looking Milton Berle. She gets a splinter when she sits on a wooden chair, and actress Audrey Meadows removes the splinter with a straight needle sterilized with a cigarette lighter.

Cancer is eating away my body, but anger will eat away your soul.

The “university” for out of body exploration is the Monroe Institute, based in Faber, Virginia. The institute describes itself as a center for the exploration of human consciousness,

I glanced at Kline out of the corner of my eye, scratching the side of my face with my middle finger. His body jerked noticeably with the effort to conceal his laugh.

Every child is born of a father and mother. But what about the first father and mother? Where did they come from? How were they born?” Diarmid shrugged. “I suppose I never gave it much thought.”“An important matter to consider. If we don’t know where we are from, it is immensely difficult to tell where we are going.” “According to our legends, Ask and Embla were first molded from earthen clay. The All Father, the master craftsman and creator of all creatures, took earth into his hands and carefully formed our flesh. Our lives and every member. Thus the earth itself became our mother, the soil the very womb from which we were born. When the All Father commanded, when he breathed upon the clay form of man, life entered the body. These clay forms were known, in legend, as Ask and Embla. “They were beautiful beyond description, the finest of all the All Father’s creatures. The closest of all in resemblance to the All Father’s heart. So he made them his stewards. His representations. He charged them to assume care for all the earth, all creatures. Not to rule them, but to guide them, serve them, express the All Father’s love and goodness unto all.

That never could have happened if he hadn’t been a guy. For one, girls aren’t allowed to wear onesies to school. They’re deemed immodest. Because, you know, distracting female bodies pose a huge educational barrier for the poor boys. And if a girl had done that zany dance, either it’d have been sexualized or it’d have been stupid, depending on the girl. “She’s hot,” people would say. Or “She’s weird.” That morning, leaving Town Meeting, everyone was jostling one another, still in high spirits. “Andy is so out there.” Voices dripping with admiration. “He’s such a…” They couldn’t even finish. No words. Shake head. Smile, smile, smile. What they meant, of course, was this: Andy Monroe is so, so freaking cool. Right after that dance—still in the onesie!—he tapped the mike and said, “Next announcement. The Service Club is hosting a winter-coat drive on behalf of the Coalition for the Homeless.” A girl wouldn’t be allowed to bridge both worlds, the silly and the sober. To be taken seriously, she’d have to act serious, and her seriousness would make her unelectable—just as a lack of seriousness would. It was a quintessential catch-22, and we couldn’t even call it out, because it sounded like an excuse. Well, I could be that cool, if I were a guy…. We couldn’t say it, but we felt it. We felt it as surely as we felt the weight of our bodies, because, like gravity, it was a truth about how it worked, this world we knew. Girls didn’t even consider running for Chawton School chairman because, as girls, we knew, we knew deep in our bones, that we would always lose.

He walks back over to the body. She too looks as if she's fallen from space and is now hugging the earth's surface for comfort, her cheek pressed against the ground, hands clutching at the flattened wheat

1. Omnipresent and Omnipotent Authoritarianism: Authoritarian Media vs. Social Media?2. Istanbul Mobil'ized: Mobile Phones' Contribution to Political Participation and Activism in Istanbul Gezi Park Protests and Onwards. 3. The Gezi Park Protest and #resistgezi: A Chronicle of Tweeting the Protests. 4. Peace Journalism: Urgently and Desperately Needed in Post-Election Turkey.5. Critical Thinking Skills on Social Media: A Blooming Season Or A Period Of Decline? 6. Social media, blended learning and constructivism: A jigsaw completed by the uses and gratifications theory? 7. Educational uses of social media and problem-based learning. 8. The future of the new media: The mobile generation and interpersonal communication. 9. "Keep in E-Touch" Personality and Facebook use (with Ng)10. Of Kate Moss & Marilyn Monroe: Body Dissatisfaction and its Relation to Media (with Dev)11. Media psychology and intercultural communication: The social representations of Vietnam on Turkish newspapers. 12. Regional Journalism in Southeast Asia and ASEAN Identity in Making

Any acknowledgment of the existence of the Second Body immediately demands the question mankind has pondered since the day he learned to think: Do we live on? Is there life beyond the grave? Our religions say believe, have faith. This is not quite enough for the syllogistic thinker who seeks valid premises that are clear-cut, leading to an inescapable conclusion.

Hanna. I’m not going to change all the sinful ways I’m going to take you just because you think I can’t handle it. I want your body. I want your cunt, and I need it now. So be a good girl and come sit on this cock.” My eyes widen, my legs rubbing together

She’s thick, curvy, her body winding and dipping like it was sculpted for a hungry man, and fuck me, I’m starving.

Why are women who look like me so hard to love for all the imperfections we carry instead of all the other things we have to offer? Better yet, why are bodies like mine considered imperfect at all?

Because the woman I plan to fuck and worship can’t possibly be insecure. You will need to love your body when you’re with me, or this won’t work.

Meditation comes in many different forms. The most useful for me since my coma has been that developed by Robert A. Monroe, founder of the Monroe Institute in Faber, Virginia. Their freedom from any dogmatic philosophy offers a distinct advantage. The only dogma associated with Monroe’s system of meditative exercises is: I am more than my physical body. This simple acknowledgment has profound implications.

I remember when Elvis died. I wrote my sentiments with words of a little girl in my dear diary, "Many people wanted to see his body. They literally wanted to dig his bones out just to make sure that he was being buried. And I could not understand why. Why people could not leave him alone and let his soul rest in peace." I couldn't get it. I didn't grasp it at that time. In a head of a little girl it was hard to believe that there were mysteries to be solved. That there ruled a conspiracy theory that people thought it was odd that he was buried and the casket was never opened. They didn't believe he was dead! Oh yes. Elvis Lives! And as the world needs his songs, his words, his thoughts, his love, his light more than ever before.

Don’t be angry any longer! Cancer is eating away my body, but anger will eat away your soul. Don’t let it destroy your chance for happiness.

I loved my job. I loved working at my job, once I managed to get my “never on time” ass there. It was that whole getting out of bed thing that caused me the most grief. Morning person, I was not. My body preferred to wake up on its own time. Therefore, my snooze button was ridden hard and put away extremely wet.

You think you can’t feel your dick now, but you definitely won’t be able to when I cut it off your body,” Cassie retorted.

tablespoons, if you’d care to indulge). Will the body composition outcomes be the same? Of course not. Rule #2: The hormonal responses to carbohydrates (CHO), protein, and fat are different. There is no shortage of clinical studies to prove that beef calories7 do not equal bourbon calories. One such study, conducted by Kekwick and Pawan, compared three groups put on calorically equal (isocaloric) semistarvation diets of 90% fat, 90% protein, or 90% carbohydrate. Though ensuring compliance was a challenge, the outcomes were clearly not at all the same: 1,000 cals. at 90% fat = weight loss of 0.9 lbs. per day 1,000 cals. at 90% protein = weight loss of 0.6 lbs. per day 1,000 cals. at 90% carbohydrate = weight gain of 0.24 lbs. per day Different sources of calories = different results. Things that affect calorie allocation—and that can be modified for fat-loss and muscle gain—include digestion, the ratio of protein-to-carbohydrates-to-fat, and timing. We’ll address all three. Marilyn Monroe building her world-famous sex appeal. More than 50% of the examples in this book are of women. Marketers have conditioned women to believe that they need specific programs and diets “for women.” This is an example of capitalism at its worst: creating false need and confusion. Does this mean I’m going to recommend that a woman do exactly the same thing as a 250-pound meathead who wants 20-inch arms? Of course not. The two have different goals. But 99% of the time both genders want exactly the same thing: less fat and a bit more muscle in the right places. Guess what? In these

Once there, there’s no chance of parole. I call it my mind, and it is a most beautiful yet terrifying thing. I am Charlotte Monroe, and as long as there is good in this world, and breath in this wretched body of mine, I will fight. I will not be lost to the darkness. I will not let Him win.

F*@k love, Monroe. Love is nothing. You can feel love for anyone. What I feel for you is pain. Knowing that a part of my f*@king soul is living outside of my body and now that I've found it, I'll die if I ever lose it. That's what we have. Love is a shadowed imitation for people unlucky enough to never find their soulmates. What we have is everything. - Lincoln Daniels

To the extent it’s humanly possible, we had to control our own emotions. It’s impossible at some level not to feel revulsion at the sight of an obviously tortured and battered body, and very challenging not to feel hatred for whoever committed this and sympathy for the victim. But emotions almost invariably cloud reasoning. In a sense, we had to stand outside of our own humanity while we were doing our job.

Why can’t she believe, while she may not be for everyone, her body is exactly right for me?