Rebuilt My Life Quotes

Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

Mistakes can be fixed. Bad decisions can be undone. Model houses can be rebuilt. And perfection is only a word that makes you feel bad about yourself.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

Here in this room, with our bodies entwined, I felt that I could trust this fierce love that had shattered and rebuilt my life. But outside, the world was a cold and dangerous place. I didn’t know if love would be enough.

I'm so very grateful that my life was so brutally and completely torn down so that it could be rebuilt from its foundation in a more meaningful way. I'm getting the feeling that another life tear down is coming, to be rebuilt once again in an even more meaningful way than the last time. I'm so very grateful for such an indestructible foundation that is ALWAYS prepared to support whatever good thing is built upon it.

I have always found it difficult not to be moved by Jerusalem, even when I hated it—and God knows I have hated it for the sheer human cost of it. But the sight of it, from afar or inside the labyrinth of its walls, softens me. Every inch of it holds the confidence of ancient civilizations, their deaths and their birthmarks pressed deep into the city's viscera and onto the rubble of its edges. The deified and the condemned have set their footprints in its sand. It has been conqured, razed and, rebuilt so many times that its stones seem to possess life, bestowed by the audit trail of prayer and blood. Yet somehow, it exhales humility. It sparks an inherent sense of familiary in me—that doubtless, irrefutable Palestinian certainty that I belong to this land. It possesses me, no matter who conquers it, because its soil is the keeper of my roots, of the bones of my ancestors. Because it knows the private lust that flamed the beds of all my foremothers. Because I am the natural seed of its passionate, tempestuous past. I am a daughter of the land, and Jerusalem reassures me of this inalienable right, far more than the yellowed property deeds, the Ottoman land registries, the iron keys to our stolen homes, or UN resolutions and decrees of superpowers could ever do.

My days have been filled with darkness. Black clouds raging overhead, winds whipping against me. I never thought the storm would pass—when you’re in the eye of it, it seems like it never will. But I’ve learned that you can’t give up. You can’t stop fighting. The storm circling you will pass, as do all things in life, big and small. And when the skies clear, what a magnificent sight you’ll see. Sunlight shines hope down on you, warming your face, breathing new life back into you amidst the rubble. Don’t focus on the wreckage. It can all be rebuilt. You don’t want to miss out on the most incredible rainbow.

I reached down and squeezed his hand. "You are a good brother." He nodded. I could see in the gray light that he was crying a little. "Thanks", he said. "i kind of just want to stay here in this particular instant for a really long time." "Yeah", I said. We settled into silence and I felt the sky's bigness above me, the unimaginable vastness of it all - looking at Polaris and realizing the light I was seeing was 425 years old, and then looking at Jupiter, less than a light-hour from us. In the moonless darkness, we were just witnesses to light, and I felt a sliver of what must have driven Davis to astronomy. There was a kind of relief in having your own smallness laid bare before you, and I realized something Davis must have already known: Spirals grow infinitely small the farther you follow them inward, but they also grow infinitely large the farther you follow them out. And I knew I would remember that feeling, underneath the split-up sky, back before the machinery of fate ground us into one thing or another, back when we could still be everything. I thought, lying there, that I might love him for the rest of my life. We did love each other - maybe we never said it, and maybe love was never something we were in, but it was something I felt. I loved him, and I thought, maybe I will never see him again and I will be stuck missing him, and isn't that so terrible. But it turn out not to be terrible, because i know the secret that the me lying beneath that sky could not imagine: I know that girl would go on, that she would grow up, have children and love them, that despite loving them she would get too sick to care for them, be hospitalized, get better, and then get sick again. I know a shrink would say, write it down, how you got here. So you would, and in writing it down you realize, love is not a tragedy or a failure, but a gift. You remember your first love because they show you, prove to you, that you can love and be loved, that nothing in this world is deserved except for love, that love is both how you become a person, and why. - But underneath those skies, your hand - no, my hand, no - our hand - in his, you don't know yet. You don't know that the spiral painting is in that box on your dining room table, with a Post-it note stuck to the back of the frame. You don't know that you will make a life, see it unbuilt and rebuilt.

My purpose in life. (Her Son) You are the making, the centre and the skin of my life. I couldn't adore anyone more. No one in this World can say that they educated me, changed me, yield me, broke me down, rebuilt me and strengthen me the way you can and have: and did it with love. You're the only one I can say I've had the pleasure of crying over, getting my heart stamped on by, living through the pain and recovering after it. Everything we've been through we will and have always come out on top: it's you and me kid. You are my Muse, my Heart, my Life and my Soul, and no matter the changes in life, my love, my dedication, my heart and my soul will never. Thank you for the ups and downs, thank you for my crazy smile and lets continue to face the World as we always have....together.

At the time, I was driving a 1970 Ford truck that I’d bought for a thousand bucks. In my world, if a vehicle runs and has air in its tires, then it’s worth a thousand dollars! The price never changes. I abused that truck for several years, only to sell it for a thousand bucks for an upgrade. It had a rebuilt hot rod engine and was fast! When we cut firewood in the rain, my truck would slide all over dirt roads and occasionally bounce off trees, so both of the truck’s sides were badly dented. After a while, I couldn’t open either door. It was real-life Dukes of Hazzard! I remember the first time Missy approached the door and tried to open it. I told her the door wouldn’t open, and she started to go around to the other side. I informed her that the other door didn’t open, either. As she looked at me with a blank stare, I said, “Rule number one: if you want to go with me, you’ve got to crawl through the window.

I have always found it difficult not to be moved by Jerusalem, even when I hated it—and God knows I have hated it for the sheer human cost of it. But the sight of it, from afar or inside the labyrinth of its walls, softens me. Every inch of it holds the confidence of ancient civilizations, their deaths and their birthmarks pressed deep into the city's viscera and onto the rubble of its edges. The deified and the condemned have set their footprints in its sand. It has been conquered, razed and, rebuilt so many times that its stones seem to possess life, bestowed by the audit trail of prayer and blood. Yet somehow, it exhales humility. It sparks an inherent sense of familiarity in me—that doubtless, irrefutable Palestinian certainty that I belong to this land. It possesses me, no matter who conquers it, because its soil is the keeper of my roots, of the bones of my ancestors. Because it knows the private lust that flamed the beds of all my foremothers. Because I am the natural seed of its passionate, tempestuous past. I am a daughter of the land, and Jerusalem reassures me of this inalienable right, far more than the yellowed property deeds, the Ottoman land registries, the iron keys to our stolen homes, or UN resolutions and decrees of superpowers could ever do.

I began a project 25 years ago that would change my life forever. Evolution of Loving offers real life examples of diverse couples who model successful, conscious partnership over time via intimate photographs and the telling of their story. It provides an intimate glimpse into eight remarkable partnerships that have been consciously built – and in many cases, rebuilt – on a foundation of authenticity, personal responsibility, and trust. The project is a true reflection of the human condition, following births, deaths, separations and the strengthening of partnerships.

Look into my eyes and You'll see my mind. A tranquil city, That rebuilt itself and left the past behind.

We could talk about it.” “Talk about what?” “Why you look like someone shot your dog. Shelby, I assume.” “Nah,” Luke said, taking a drink. “That’s not serious.” “I guess that has nothing to do with your sleeplessness or your mood then. Trouble with the cabins? The town? Your tenant/helper?” “Aiden, there’s nothing bothering me, except maybe that I’ve been working my ass off for three months getting a house and six cabins rebuilt and furnished.” Aiden took a sip of his drink. “Twenty-five, so Sean and Mom say. And gorgeous.” “Sean’s an idiot who can’t mind his own business. She’s just a girl.” “She’s just a girl who has you looking a little uptight.” “Thanks,” he said, standing. “You don’t look that great yourself—I’m going to bed.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Nah, don’t,” Aiden said. “Fix another one. Give me ten minutes, huh? I can just ask a couple of questions, right? I’m not like Sean, I’m not going to get up your ass about this. But you haven’t talked about it much and I’m a little curious.” Luke thought about that for a second and against his better judgment, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a short shot. He went back and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What?” he asked abruptly. Aiden chuckled. “Okay. Relax. Just a girl? Not serious?” “That’s right. A town girl, sort of. She’s visiting her family and she’ll be leaving pretty soon.” “Ah—I didn’t know that. I guess I thought she lived there.” “Long visit,” Luke said. “Her mother died last spring. She’s spending a few months with her uncle until she gets on with things—like where she wants to live. College and travel and stuff. This is temporary, that’s all.” “But—if you felt serious, there isn’t any reason you wouldn’t let it…you know…evolve…?” “I don’t feel serious,” he said, his mouth in a firm line. “Okay, I get that. Does she? Feel serious?” “She has plans. I didn’t trap her, Aiden. I made sure she knew—I’m not interested in being a family man. I told her she could do better, I’m just not built that way. But when I’m with a woman, I know how to treat her right. If she needed something permanent, she was in the wrong place. That’s how it is.” “Never?” “What do you mean, never? No one in this family is interested in that.” “Bullshit. I am. Sean says he’s having too much fun, but the truth is he has the attention span of a cabbage. But me? I’d like a wife, a family.” “Didn’t you already try that once?” Luke asked, sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little bit since the attention had shifted to Aiden’s life. “Oh, yeah—I tried hard. Next time I try, I’m going to see if I can find a woman who’s not certifiable and off her meds.” He grinned. “Really, that’s what happens when you ignore all the symptoms because she’s such a friggin’ miracle in bed, it causes brain damage.” He shrugged. “I’m on the lookout for that.” Luke grinned. “She was hot.” “Oh, yeah.” “She was worse than nuts.” “Nightmare nuts,” Aiden agreed.

I have loved you with an everlasting love…I will build you up again, and you…will be rebuilt. JEREMIAH 31:3-4 Father, I come before You feeling broken in a thousand pieces. I’ve been slowly wandering away from You and I can’t do this anymore. I’ve heard You call me, but I haven’t wanted to listen. I’ve felt You whisper Truth, but I wanted You to be wrong. You knew how my decisions would end, yet I didn’t want to be stopped. So now, here I am—at the end of myself. I need You. I refuse to take another step without You. I give You everything. Your Word says that after my suffering You will restore me, make me strong, firm, and steadfast (1 Peter 5:10). You have promised to rebuild me, so Father, pour the foundation and lay the structures of my heart. When You created me, You knew the woman that You wanted me to be. Reclaim what I’ve lost and breathe Your life into my soul. Thank You, God, that as You restore me, You give me so much more than I could ever ask for or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Lord, rebuild me. In Jesus’ name I pray.

What did you learn?” “Letting go of my past, because it’s all soot, nothing is left of it, if I wandered there for long I would be running in circles in the dark, no hope, no life. And if I chose to live in those places rebuilt from ashes, I can never get rid of the darkness which would prevail underneath.” “The present is my ray of hope. I could have stayed there, complaining about the gloominess of the light, and regretting not having turned a corner to explore a new horizon at the same time I needed to respect that light because it was my savior from the dark. I learnt it finally and that’s why I reached here today and found you

It wasn’t only the cost of life that ripped and devastated and sundered. It was the altering of a soul with it—the realization that I could perhaps go back home to Velaris, perhaps see peace achieved and cities rebuilt … but this battle, this war … I would be the thing forever changed. War would linger with me long after it had ended, some invisible scar that would perhaps fade, but never wholly vanish. But for my home, for Prythian and the human territory and so many others … I would clean my blades, and wash the blood from my skin. And I would do it again and again and again.

I've been burned in the past, which you know. I rebuilt my life once. I can't rebuild it again. I make sure I get things right at the first time. Going slow is good for me, too.

Tokyo." Mr. Fuchigami's voice inflates with pride. "Formerly Edo, almost destroyed by the 1923 Great Kantō earthquake, then again in 1944 by nighttime firebombing raids. Tens of thousands were killed." The chamberlain grows silent. "Kishikaisei." "What does that mean?" There's a skip in my chest. We've entered the city now. The high-rises are no longer cut out shapes against the skyline, but looming gray giants. Every possible surface is covered in signs---neon and plastic or painted banners---they all scream for attention. It's noisy, too. There is a cacophony of pop tunes, car horns, advertising jingles, and trains coasting over rails. Nothing is understated. "Roughly translated, 'wake from death and return to life.' Against hopeless circumstances, Tokyo has risen. It is home to more than thirty-five million people." He pauses. "And, in addition, the oldest monarchy in the world." The awe returns tenfold. I clutch the windowsill and press my nose to the glass. There are verdant parks, tidy residential buildings, upmarket shops, galleries, and restaurants. For each sleek, new modern construction, there is one low-slung wooden building with a blue tiled roof and glowing lanterns. It's all so dense. Houses lean against one another like drunk uncles. Mr. Fuchigami narrates Tokyo's history. A city built and rebuilt, born and reborn. I imagine cutting into it like a slice of cake, dissecting the layers. I can almost see it. Ash from the Edo fires with remnants of samurai armor, calligraphy pens, and chipped tea porcelain. Bones from when the shogunate fell. Dust from the Great Earthquake and more debris from the World War II air raids. Still, the city thrives. It is alive and sprawling with neon-colored veins. Children in plaid skirts and little red ties dash between business personnel in staid suits. Two women in crimson kimonos and matching parasols duck into a teahouse.

In the early 1980s, historian Jon Halliday asked Genaro Carnero Checa, a radical Peruvian writer and frequent traveler to the DPRK who published a book on the country in 1977 entitled Korea: Rice and Steel, his honest opinion of North Korea. Checa replied, “They fought the North Americans; they have done incredible things in the economy; it’s the only Third World country where everyone has good health, good education and good housing.” Halliday then asked Checa about his view of North Korea as a poet. Checa said, “It is the saddest, most miserable country I’ve ever been in in my life. As a poet, it strikes bleakness into my heart.” Checa’s statements reflect what many in the Third World thought of North Korea during the Cold War era. On one hand, this small nation overcame Japanese imperialism, brought the mighty U.S. military to a standstill in a three-year war, and rapidly rebuilt itself into a modern socialist state. For many struggling peoples in the Third World that recently overcame decades of Western colonialism and imperialism, North Korea’s economic recovery and military prowess were justifiably admirable. On the other hand, the oppressiveness and brutality of the North Korean political system undermined the appeal of the DPRK’s developmental model to the Third World. The growing inefficiencies of North Korea’s economic system also became too obvious to ignore. In fact, Kim Il Sung’s Third World diplomacy may have furthered the DPRK’s domestic economic troubles. A former member of the North Korean elite, Kang Myong- do, said after his defection to South Korea that “excessive aid to Third World countries had caused an actual worsening of North Korea’s already serious economic problems.

Rock Bottom Became A SOLID Foundation on Which I Rebuilt My Life

It wasn't only the cost of life that ripped and devastated and sundered. It was the altering of a soul with it- the realisation that I could perhaps go back home to Velaris, perhaps see peace achieved and cities rebuilt... but this battle, this war... I would be the thing forever changed. War would linger with me long after it had ended, some invisible scar that would perhaps fade, but never wholly vanish. But for my home, for Prythian and the human territory and so many others... I would clean my blades, and wash the blood from my skin. And I would do it again and again and again.

My God, woman! Your life was destroyed. You've rebuilt a new one, a deeply productive one, without ever surrendering. You're entitled to not be strong about everything every instant. And you have the right to admit that it hurts, and that things frighten you.

Years later, after Japan had already been rebuilt and had begun sending their wretched cars and electrical goods to our country, I took care never to give them my business. Life would have been easier if I’d bought one of their damned television sets or even their fridges, but I always thought of Hashimoto. I remembered my humiliation and refused to yield. I have never knowingly bought a Japanese product. Not one.