Simple Gesture Of Love Quotes

He leaned in then and kissed me again, sweet and soft and tender, silencing my arguments and stealing my breath, making me wonder how one simple gesture could be so tragically lovely.

We can all make a difference in the lives of others in need, because it is the most simple of gestures that make the most significant of differences.

Could it be as simple as that? Could love be not grand gestures or empty vows, not promises meant to be broken, but instead a paper trail of forgiveness? A line of crumbs made of memories, to lead you back to the person who was waiting?

In the hours that followed, I learned that Ademic hand gestures did not actually represent facial expressions. It was nothing so simple as that. For example a smile can mean you're amused, happy, grateful, or satisfied. You can smile to comfort someone. You can smile because you're content or because you're in love. A grimace or a grin look similar to a smile, but they mean entirely different things. Imagine trying to teach someone how to smile. Imagine trying to describe what different smiles mean and when, precisely, to use them in conversation. It's harder than learning to walk.

He extended a finger to her face, the simple gesture bringing into play the sleek muscles of his shoulders and arms. “You are so beautiful, so adorable. I know full well you’re my doom, and I don’t care.

You know those little moments when an unexpected act or a spoken word affects your heart with sweet, satiating intensity―a simple gesture that possesses deep, personal meaning beyond what anyone realizes?  You know those tender moments?  That's God pressing his lips on your forehead and whispering, 'I love you.'

Her mind was present because she was always gone. Her hands were filled because they grasped the meaning of empty. Life was simple. Her husband returned and she served him with indifferent patience this time. When he asked what had happened to her heat for him, she gestured to the west. The sun was setting. The sky was a body of fire.

Everything comes down to this: the reason for every word I have written and every word I will write. I am recounting my life for you so that you may know this secret without the pain of discovering it: We are unhappy because we think that love is something we require from someone else. Our salvation depends on a simple gesture that is nonetheless the most difficult act we can perform: We must give away the thing we most long for. Not to receive but to give.

Everything changed when I met the girl. She penetrated a corner of my soul that had been kept sealed and even I didn't know was there. With her gestures, the scent of her skin, her sudden, intense glances that filled me with overwhelming tenderness, with her dependence that was a kind of unthinking, absolute acceptance, she could rescue me instantly from my confusions and obsessions, my discouragement and failure, or my simple daily routine, and leave me inside a radiant circle made of throbbing energy and powerful certainty, like the effects of an unknown drug that produces unconditional happiness.

This is for those times when I want to take his hand, or he wants to take mine, but we don’t feel safe enough. This is for those times other couples get to take for granted, but we have to snatch in limited amounts when they become available to us. This is for those times when I can’t do such a simple thing as hold the hand of Dec as the tiniest gesture of affection and to show him how much I love him.

The hug was a simple gesture. Perhaps, the end of the cold war. Perhaps, the fragile beginning of love.

And the second [thing about the CBS EVENING NEWS that stands out in the mind of Michael J. Fox] was something Katie did later in the interview, as the drugs kicked in and the tremors segued into the jerkiness of dyskinesias. Somewhere in the contortions of making a point, my left arm detached the microphone clip from my jacket lapel. With no fuss and hardly a break in conversation or eye contact, she calmly leaned over and refastened it. Neither of us commented on it, but it was such an empathetic gesture, so far from anything patronizing or pitying, a simple kindness that allowed me the dignity to carry on making a point more important than the superficiality of my physical circumstance... ...One thing was abundantly clear though, whether or not she was able to forget how much she liked me: with that single act of consideration, she made it abundantly clear how much she loved her father.

So I died many times that year. In the cold, in the storm, on the run or on the drunk for my heart did not want to beat but kept on beating anyway and my pain was as real as real can be, and I tried to learn and deal and run and feel but nothing really worked. I built a comfortable home in my sorrow and settled into a quiet living. No sparks or grand gestures, just a simple daily hymn to comfort. The leaves fell off the trees and coloured this city in all kinds of pretty, and some days that was enough to make me smile at least a little bit, within.

I sigh contentedly as I close my eyes, allowing his body heat to warm me. Even though I’ve had an amazing time on our date, this is the highlight of my day. I’ve always been more of a simple pleasures kind of girl. Which isn’t me saying I’m ungrateful for everything he did today. Today was magical, and I will remember it for the rest of my life, but I don’t need grand gestures from Kal. I just need him.

Hello,' he said, almost shyly, as he approached the table. He was barefoot and shirtless, and adorably tousled, with golden hair falling over sparkly eyes that looked as if they were still waking up. 'Hi.' Her voice came out oddly shy as well, which only seemed to make Jacks smile. 'You didn't have to sneak out of bed,' he said. 'I didn't sneak.' 'Then why didn't you stay?' He casually slid in to the seat beside her and turned to her with a wolfish grin. It was a smile like a fairytale, part villain, part hero, part impossible ever after. She couldn't bear how much she loved it. But then she remembered the stone. She imagined she'd feel differently if it was in an iron box, and she feared that Jacks would, too. That he wouldn't be looking at her as if he wanted to devour her instead of the breakfast. 'Tomorrow, I won't let you leave so easily.' His eyes flashed with mischief, and he stole a bite of her toast. The gesture was so simple and so comfortable, and all she could think was that it would be so easy to stay here. 'I thought you said it was just one night.' 'I thought you never believed what I said.' He shook his head reproachfully and tugged her on to his lap. 'Jacks-' Evangeline put a hand against his chest. She could feel his heart was pounding, which surprised her. On the outside, he looked so casual and careless, but now she imagined he felt as nervous as she did. It made her want to pull him closer, to press her head in to his shoulder and tell him all the things that she was trying not to feel. She wrapped her arms around his neck , and for a second she held tight. She held him as if he was hers and she was his, and there was nothing else between them. No curses. No lies. No past wounds or mistakes. She held him as if there was only now, as if nothing else mattered but this moment. Then she let him go. She shoved off his laps with clumsy arms and even clumsier legs that stumbled as she tried to step back. 'Evangeline... what's wrong?' A line creased between his brows. 'This isn't real, Jacks. You and I, we're under the influence of the mirth stone.' 'You think you would only feel this way about me because of a rock?' Jacks' mouth clamped shut. For a moment he looked angry, but she looked in his eyes, all she could see was hurt.

Charlus takes the narrator's chin and slides his magnetized fingers up to the ears "like a barber's fingers." This trivial gesture, which I begin, is continued by another part of myself; without anything interrupting it physically, it branches off, shifts from a simple function to a dazzling meaning, that of the demand for love. Meaning (destiny) electrifies my hand: I am about to tear open the other's opaque body, oblige the other (whether there is a response, a withdrawal, or mere acceptance) to enter into the interplay of meaning: I am about to make the other speak. In the lover's realm, there is no acting out: no propulsion, perhaps even no pleasure -- nothing but signs, a frenzied activity of language: to institute, on each furtive occasion, the system (the paradigm) of demand and response.

A simple, loving gesture imprints a memory in our hearts that no one can ever erase.

Daniel, I’d trade a thousand grand gestures for that simple ‘I love you’ from your lips. You make me the happiest woman in the world.

Living a life rich in love and joy,” he said, “is about the little things: the way you smile at someone or thoughtful gestures you make, they make all the difference.

She loved “their funny stiff dancing, listening to their incomprehensible and guttural tongue, and watching their simple gestures, natural behavior and childlike eagerness for life.

I realize… she's hugging me. An affectionate, comfortable feeling envelops me. This is the hug I’ve waited for all my life. Right here, with this girl. A hug that makes up for a lifetime of not being held, not being loved, not being enough. This is the hug to end all hugs. But I definitely want more hugs in the future, and only from this woman. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough hugs after this. I decide right in this moment, that if by some miracle I ever have children, I will hug them, and hug them often. What a simple, but life-changing gesture. Kissing is great… epic… amazing. But hugs are severely underrated.

I make love to you when I hold you at night and chase away your nightmares. I make love to you when I do things to bring that beautiful smile to your face.. I make love to you every day, Kylie, in every simple gesture.

Is it really possible that the finest sensations in life are simple: the delicate brush of Lou’s hair across my chest, for instance? Yes. It is possible. Or was it the feeling I felt in each length as they drifted over me, the love I perceived in their gentle tickle? Yes. That was possible too. With Lou’s soft first kiss, wasn’t it mainly the miracle of its happening at all which made it so wondrous, so plainly impossible? And was I waiting on the stair for the world’s wind to do the same, to display for me that rare union of meaning, gesture, and understanding, which the artist gnaws up knuckles to achieve? O. Oooh…the decades I’ve done in and then abandoned without even waiting for the wounds to bleed!

Remind the people you care about how much you love them today. It will only take a moment, and it doesn't have to be an elaborate speech. It's a simple gesture but I promise, those words, can heal. Don't wait until tomorrow, it may never get here.

Greed subsumes love and compassion; living simply makes room for them. Living simply is the primary way everyone can resist greed every day. All over the world people are becoming more aware of the importance of living simply and sharing resources. While communism has suffered political defeat globally, the politics of communalism continue to matter. We can all resist the temptation of greed. We can work to change public policy, electing leaders who are honest and progressive. We can turn off the television set. We can show respect for love. To save our planet we can stop thoughtless waste. We can recycle and support ecologically advanced survival strategies. We can celebrate and honor communalism and interdependency by sharing resources. All these gestures show a respect and a gratitude for life. When we value the delaying of gratification and take responsibility for our actions, we simplify our emotional universe. Living simply makes loving simple. The choice to live simply necessarily enhances our capacity to love. It is the way we learn to practice compassion, daily affirming our connection to a world community.

Romance can be as simple as leaving a note on the refrigerator that says “I love you” or giving an unexpected hug. It can include heroic gestures like helping your partner do his taxes or scouring the tile in her skanky-looking shower or taking a whole day to organize a lover’s Nightmare-on-Elm-Street closet.

She turned to put the basket of bread on the table and saw Brian, and the clutch of mums and zinnias he held in his hand. "It seemed to call for them," he said. She stared at the cheerful fall bloossoms, then up into his face. "You picked me flowers." The sheer disbelief in her voice had him moving his shoulders restlessly. "Well,you made me dinner, with wine and candles and the whole of it. Bedsides, they're your flowers anyway." "No,they're not." Drowning in love she set the basket down, waited. "Until you give them to me." "I'll never understand why women are so sensitive over posies." He held them out. "Thank you." She closed her eyes, buried her face in them. She wanted to remember the exact fragrance, the exact texture. Then lowering them again, she lifted her mouth to his for a kiss. Rubbed her cheek against his. His arms came around her so suddenly, so tightly, she gasped. "Brian? What is it?" That gesture,the simple and sweet gesture of cheek against cheek nearly destroyed him. "It's nothing. I just like the way you feel against me when I hold you." "Hold me any tighter,I'll be through you.

This needs fixing, and I am the one who is going to fix it. I’m okay with that.” Arianna nodded. “But how? What are you going to do?” “I have some ideas. But first I need something in my stomach before I fall over. So let’s go eat and plot and then save the world.” David sighed, looking thoughtful. “What’s up, Dad?” Lend asked. “I’m trying to figure out if there’s any way I can lock you two in your rooms. I don’t think a simple grounding will do it.” Raquel laughed. “Good luck trying to force Evie to do anything else once she has made up her mind. She is the definition of a stubborn, headstrong teenager.” “And you love me for it.” “I do.” She hugged me, the spontaneity of the gesture surprising me. Even Lend’s expression softened slightly toward her.

He was amazed to find that the Karmapa, an eminent spiritual leader known the world over, treated him as though his visit were one of the most important things that had ever happened to the Karmapa in his life. This treatment did not manifest through grandiose gestures or ceremony, but rather through the simplicity and completeness of the Karmapa’s presence, which offered my friend an experience of being completely loved. When I heard this story, I thought about how many conversations I have had during which my attention was halfhearted. I might be thinking about the next thing I had to do or the next person I had to talk to. How unfair that lack of attention now seems! The simple act of being completely present to another person is truly an act of love—no drama is required.

We need publicity that allows me to talk about the gift of giving, how precious it is, how special it can be, particularly in these times when people are really struggling. It’s not about how expensive something is – as a nation we’ve stopped giving lavish gifts – it’s actually about thinking about what to give someone, how it can lift them when they’re down, how they can feel loved and important and special just by one simple gesture.

It’s time for you to give yourself the love, attention, loyalty, and care you’ve been trying to get from others your whole life. Grief has you gripped tightly by the ankles, and she may not let you go too soon. There’s nowhere to go but home to yourself. This simple gesture of giving yourself your full attention when sorrow is shaking you to the bone promises to carve depth and kindness into the core of who you are—more than anything else I know.

Don't devote yourself to anyone. Eventually, everyone walks out of your life If you are so filled with love, there are many out there who are waiting for just one kind gesture, one kind word Extend your hand and help the right ones. Again, don't get involved! Attachment only leads to emotional exhaustion. This world is a simple place. Get busy exploring its simplicity. Get busy exploring its beauty. People are complicated. Life is too short to get involved in their complications.

Kisses bring viewers out of the woodwork. That’s pure and simple fandom fact, and #KevinThursday is a prime example. A kiss is the culmination of everything unspoken—all the hints and hopes and uncertainties in a budding romance. Until that moment, it’s heat and simmer, heat and simmer. It’s a look, a word, a gesture. But the kiss is the boiling point. It’s what everyone waits on and cheers for. I get that, but personally? I prefer what happens before the kiss: the accidental brush of a shoulder, the spark of a stolen glance, the seemingly throwaway comment that is steeped in history and means so much more. That’s what I love best, and it’s what I best direct.

The message of EFT is simple: Forget about learning how to argue better, analyzing your early childhood, making grand romantic gestures, or experimenting with new sexual positions. Instead, recognize and admit that you are emotionally attached to and dependent on your partner in much the same way that a child is on a parent for nurturing, soothing, and protection. Adult attachments may be more reciprocal and less centered on physical contact, but the nature of the emotional bond is the same. EFT focuses on creating and strengthening this emotional bond between partners by identifying and transforming the key moments that foster an adult loving relationship: being open, attuned, and responsive to each other.

An autumn evening... An autumn evening, I ran hurriedly, made my way I did to that special bench in the park, Where in a likewise special week, I used to meet my Amily. My dear Amily with her mischievious eyes, Hear songs do my ears, whenever she speaks. With her fragrance and aura of jasmine, Feel I do that I am in heaven. Words spoken between us are of course less, but the thoughts that we share are, a lot. See each other we do, very less. Yet an urge to keep seeing each other, we have got. As I sat on the bench today, waiting for her, I wondered how today she would be. Would she dress grand or just come casually, in a simple manner and her hair let out freely. After a while, glance I did at the time. “Why hadn't she come by now?” Did she meet with trouble on the way that she came? Or didn't it cross her mind what the time was now? Then my worries were put to rest, When I saw her in front of me. I smiled at the way, that she had dressed for me. Wearing a dress of my favourite colour, and herself appearing royal with grandeur, she came slowly towards me, with doubt in her eyes, as her eyes enquired if she looked good that way? I smiled again and gestured that she looked like a princess. Then I offered my hand, to walk the rest of the day. So holding each other's hands, we walked gently, with our minds out of the world and lost in our own dreams; Just the two of us, me and my Amily.

I remember when we parted there was an awkward moment when the severity of my situation and our unfamiliarity with each other left us with no words, and in a gesture that I’m sure was completely unconscious, he placed his hand over his heart for just a second as a flicker of empathetic anguish crossed his face. It sliced right through me. It cut through the cloud I was living in and let the plain day pour its balm upon me. It was, I am sure, one of those moments when we enact and reflect a mercy and mystery that are greater than we are, when the void of God and the love of God, incomprehensible pain and the peace that passeth understanding, come together in a simple human act. We stood for a minute in the aftermath, not talking, and then went our suddenly less separate ways.

Considering that I tried to be friendly with everyone, I was never honoured with anyone's “friendship”. Horiki and other friends for entertainment like him, do not count. Every communication left me with a bitter feeling, and to get rid of it I had to play out a barbed comedy routine, but it only wore me out even more. And if I happened to accidentally meet someone I knew, or even a person who just looked like one of the rare people I knew, it sent shivers down my spine. When it happened that I was well regarded, I was not able to love people. (Speaking of which, I doubt that in this world such “love for people” exists.) Consequently, “friendship“ was something I was unable to reach, I could not even manage such a simple gesture as a “friendly visit“. I associated the gates of other people's houses with the gates of hell, behind which a bloodthirsty and monstrous dragon was waiting for me. I had no friends. I had nowhere to go.

For one moment, she stood stock-still, drinking in the simple beauty of the marble fountain, the base of its pedestal wreathed in delicate fronds, that stood, glowing lambently in the soft white light, in the center of a small, secluded, fern-shrouded clearing. Water poured steadily from the pitcher of the partially clad maiden frozen forever in her task of filling the wide, scroll-lipped basin. The area had clearly been designed to provide the lady of the house with a private, refreshing, calming retreat in which to embroider, or simply rest and gather thoughts. In the moonlit night, surrounded by mysterious shadow and steeped in a silence rendered only more intense by the distant sighing of music and the silvery tinkle of the water, it was a hauntingly magical place. For three heartbeats, the magic held Patience immobile. Then, through the fine silk of her gown, she felt the heat of Vane's body. He did not touch her, but that heat, and the flaring awareness that raced through her, had her quickly stepping forward. Hauling in a desperate breath, she gestured to the fountain. "It's lovely." "Hmm," came from close behind. Too close behind. Patience found herself heading for a stone bench, shaded by a canopy of palms. Stifling a gasp, she veered away, toward the fountain.

hesitation they lost their lead. Adult attachment theory teaches us that Karen’s basic assumption, that she can and should control her emotional needs and soothe herself in the face of stress, is simply wrong. She assumed the problem was that she is too needy. Research findings support the exact opposite. Getting attached means that our brain becomes wired to seek the support of our partner by ensuring the partner’s psychological and physical proximity. If our partner fails to reassure us, we are programmed to continue our attempts to achieve closeness until the partner does. If Karen and Tim understood this, she would not feel ashamed of needing to hold his hand during the stress of a nationally televised race. For his part, Tim would have known that the simple gesture of holding Karen’s hand could give them the extra edge they needed to win. Indeed, if he knew that by responding to her need early on, he would have had to devote less time to “putting out fires” caused by her compounded distress later—he might have been inclined to hold her hand when he noticed that she was starting to get anxious, instead of waiting until she demanded it. What’s more, if Tim was able to accept Karen’s support more readily, he would probably have bungee jumped sooner. Attachment principles teach us that most

I’ve had the best time! The spirit here is incredible. It’s competitive, to be sure, but everyone supports each other. I was getting advice from men I was about to go against right up to the very moment the competitions began.” “That’s wonderful,” Joanna said and handed him a mug of lemonade. “You look absolutely awful.” “I showered,” he replied, a bit defensively. “She means the bruises,” Kassandra said. She thought “awful” was going too far, for the truth was, he looked magnificent. He was a bit battered, however, as was to be expected. All the competitors were the same. “These are nothing,” he insisted, gesturing to the livid black-and-blue splotches with which he was adorned, and with the enthusiasm of a boy, added, “I won two silver bracelets. Here.” He handed one to each of them and beamed as they put them on. “Thank you,” Joanna said sweetly and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Kassandra stared at the bracelet, turning it round and round her wrist. In her quarters, there were chests fitted with silk-lined drawers that held precious jewels given to her because she was a princess. She wore them on occasion and enjoyed them. But never had she received anything so lovely as that simple silver bracelet won by sweat and skill in the Games. “It’s very nice,” she said, and felt his gaze even as she refused to meet it.

Just how important a close moment-to-moment connection between mother and infant can be was illustrated by a cleverly designed study, known as the “double TV experiment,” in which infants and mothers interacted via a closed-circuit television system. In separate rooms, infant and mother observed each other and, on “live feed,” communicated by means of the universal infant-mother language: gestures, sounds, smiles, facial expressions. The infants were happy during this phase of the experiment. “When the infants were unknowingly replayed the ‘happy responses’ from the mother recorded from the prior minute,” writes the UCLA child psychiatrist Daniel J. Siegel, “they still became as profoundly distressed as infants do in the classic ‘flat face’ experiments in which mothers-in-person gave no facial emotional response to their infant’s bid for attunement.” Why were the infants distressed despite the sight of their mothers’ happy and friendly faces? Because happy and friendly are not enough. What they needed were signals that the mother is aligned with, responsive to and participating in their mental states from moment to moment. All that was lacking in the instant video replay, during which infants saw their mother’s face unresponsive to the messages they, the infants, were sending out. This sharing of emotional spaces is called attunement. Emotional stress on the mother interferes with infant brain development because it tends to interfere with the attunement contact. Attunement is necessary for the normal development of the brain pathways and neurochemical apparatus of attention and emotional selfregulation. It is a finely calibrated process requiring that the parent remain herself in a relatively nonstressed, non-anxious, nondepressed state of mind. Its clearest expression is the rapturous mutual gaze infant and mother direct at each other, locked in a private and special emotional realm, from which, at that moment, the rest of the world is as completely excluded as from the womb. Attunement does not mean mechanically imitating the infant. It cannot be simulated, even with the best of goodwill. As we all know, there are differences between a real smile and a staged smile. The muscles of smiling are exactly the same in each case, but the signals that set the smile muscles to work do not come from the same centers in the brain. As a consequence, those muscles respond differently to the signals, depending on their origin. This is why only very good actors can mimic a genuine, heartfelt smile. The attunement process is far too subtle to be maintained by a simple act of will on the part of the parent. Infants, particularly sensitive infants, intuit the difference between a parent’s real psychological states and her attempts to soothe and protect the infant by means of feigned emotional expressions. A loving parent who is feeling depressed or anxious may try to hide that fact from the infant, but the effort is futile. In fact, it is much easier to fool an adult with forced emotion than a baby. The emotional sensory radar of the infant has not yet been scrambled. It reads feelings clearly. They cannot be hidden from the infant behind a screen of words, or camouflaged by well-meant but forced gestures. It is unfortunate but true that we grow far more stupid than that by the time we reach adulthood.

This new surge in morale had nothing to do with Churchill’s speech and everything to do with his gift for understanding how simple gestures could generate huge effects. What had infuriated Londoners was that during these night raids the Luftwaffe seemed free to come and go as it wished, without interference from the night-blind RAF and the city’s strangely quiescent anti-aircraft guns. Gun crews were under orders to conserve ammunition and fire only when aircraft were sighted overhead and, as a consequence, did little firing at all. On Churchill’s orders, more guns were brought to the city, boosting the total to nearly two hundred, from ninety-two. More importantly, Churchill now directed their crews to fire with abandon, despite his knowing full well that guns only rarely brought down aircraft. The orders took effect that Wednesday night, September 11. The impact on civic morale was striking and immediate. Crews blasted away; one official described it as “largely wild and uncontrolled shooting.” Searchlights swept the sky. Shells burst over Trafalgar Square and Westminster like fireworks, sending a steady rain of shrapnel onto the streets below, much to the delight of London’s residents. The guns raised “a momentous sound that sent a chattering, smashing, blinding thrill through the London heart,” wrote novelist William Sansom. Churchill himself loved the sound of the guns; instead of seeking shelter, he would race to the nearest gun emplacement and watch. The new cacophony had “an immense effect on people’s morale,” wrote private secretary John Martin. “Tails are up and, after the fifth sleepless night, everyone looks quite different this morning—cheerful and confident. It was a curious bit of mass psychology—the relief of hitting back.” The next day’s Home Intelligence reports confirmed the effect. “The dominating topic of conversation today is the anti-aircraft barrage of last night. This greatly stimulated morale: in public shelters people cheered and conversation shows that the noise brought a shock of positive pleasure.

We say “universe” and the word makes us think of a possible unification of things. One can be a spiritualist, a materialist, a pantheist, just as one can be indifferent to philosophy and satisfied with common sense: the fact remains that one always conceives of one or several simple principles by which the whole of material and moral things might be explained. This is because our intelligence loves simplicity. It seeks to reduce effort, and insists that nature was arranged in such a way as to demand of us, in order to be thought, the least possible labor. It therefore provides itself with the exact minimum of elements and principles with which to recompose the indefinite series of objects and events. But if instead of reconstructing things ideally for the greater satisfaction of our reason we confine ourselves purely and simply to what is given us by experience, we should think and express ourselves in quite another way. While our intelligence with its habits of economy imagines effects as strictly proportioned to their causes, nature, in its extravagance, puts into the cause much more than is required to produce the effect. While our motto is Exactly what is necessary, nature’s motto is More than is necessary,—too much of this, too much of that, too much of everything. Reality, as James sees it, is redundant and superabundant. Between this reality and the one constructed by the philosophers, I believe he would have established the same relation as between the life we live every day and the life which actors portray in the evening on the stage. On the stage, each actor says and does only what has to be said and done; the scenes are clear-cut; the play has a beginning, a middle and an end; and everything is worked out as economically as possible with a view to an ending which will be happy or tragic. But in life, a multitude of useless things are said, many superfluous gestures made, there are no sharply-drawn situations; nothing happens as simply or as completely or as nicely as we should like; the scenes overlap; things neither begin nor end; there is no perfectly satisfying ending, nor absolutely decisive gesture, none of those telling words which give us pause: all the effects are spoiled. Such is human life.

I stand on a vast grass field of many gently sloping hills. It is night, yet the sky is bright. There is no sun, but a hundred blazing blue stars, each shining in a long river of nebulous cloud. The air is warm, pleasant, fragrant with the perfume of a thousand invisible flowers. In the distance a stream of people walk toward a large vessel of some type, nestled between the hills. The ship is violet, glowing; the bright rays that stab forth from it seem to reach to the stars. Somehow I know that it is about to leave and that I am supposed to be on it. Yet, before I depart, there is something I have to discuss with Lord Krishna. He stands beside me on the wide plain, his gold flute in his right hand, a red lotus slower in his left. His dress is simple, as is mine - long blue gowns that reach to the ground. Only he wears a single jewel around his neck - the brilliant Kaustubha gem, in which the destiny of every soul can be seen. He does not look at me but toward the vast ship, and the stars beyond. He seems to be waiting for me to speak, but for some reason I cannot remember what he said last. I only know that I am a special case. Because I do not know what to ask, I say what is most on my mind. "When will I see you again, my Lord?" He gestures to the vast plain, the thousands of people leaving. "The earth is a place of time and dimension. Moments here can seem like an eternity there. It all depends on your heart. When you remember me, I am there in the blink of an eye." "Even on earth?" He nods. "Especially there. It is a unique place. Even the gods pray to take birth there." "Why that, my Lord?" He smiles faintly. His smile is bewitching. It has been said, I know, that the smile of the Lord has bewildered the minds of the angels. It has bewildered mine. "One quest always leads to another question. Some things are better to wonder about." He turns toward me finally, his long black hair blowing in the soft night breeze. The stars reflect in his black pupils; the whole universe is there. The love that flows from him is the sweetest ambrosia in all the heavens. Yet it breaks my heart to feel because I know it will soon be gone. "It is all maya," he says. "Illusion." "Will I get lost in this illusion, my Lord?" "Of course. It is to be expected. You will be lost for a long time.

What no one tells you is that there will be a last time you ever carry your child. A last time you tuck them in. A last time they run into your arms off the school bus. All through his infancy, Dylan was attached to me, almost literally. I nursed him, and he was fussy, so I carried him almost constantly, patting his back, humming to him, breathing in his delicious baby scent. He didn’t walk till he was fourteen months old, and I loved that, because I got to carry him that much longer. I took him for hikes in a backpack, his little knees hitting my ribs. I carried him on my shoulders, him clinging to fistfuls of my hair. I loved every minute. He was an affectionate boy full of drooly kisses and cuddles. He was generous with his hugs, from Paul at the post office to Christine, our librarian. And especially with me. Every night when I read him bedtime stories, his sweet little head would rest against my shoulder, and he’d idly stroke my arm, smelling like Dove soap and baby shampoo. Driving in the car was like a tranquilizer dart for Dylan . . . even bumping down our long dirt road wouldn’t wake him up, and I’d park the car, get out and unbuckle him, then lift his sweaty little body into my arms to carry him inside and just sit on the couch with him in my arms, heart against heart. And then one day, he no longer needed that. The bedtime stories stopped when he was about ten and wanted to read to himself. The last time I attempted to carry him from the car, he woke up and said, “It’s okay, Mom. I’m awake.” He never needed that again. Had someone told me “This is the last time you’ll get to carry your son,” I would have paid more attention. I would have held him as long as I could. They don’t tell you that your son will stop kissing you with sweet innocence, and those smooches will be replaced with an obligatory peck. They don’t tell you that he won’t want a piggyback ride ever again. That you can’t hold his hand anymore. That those goofy, physical games of chasing and tickling and mock wrestling will end one day. Permanently. All those natural, easy, physical gestures of love stop when your son hits puberty and is abruptly aware of his body . . . and yours. He doesn’t want to hug you the same way, finding your physicality perhaps a little . . . icky . . . that realization that Mom has boobs, that Mom’s stomach is soft, that Mom and Dad have sex, that Mom gets her period. The snuggles stop. This child, the deepest love of your life, won’t ever stroke your arm again. You’ll never get to lie in bed next to him for a bedtime chat, those little talks he used to beg for. No more tuck-ins. No more comforting after a bad dream. The physical distance between the two of you is vast . . . it’s not just that he’ll only come so close for the briefest second, but also the simple fact that he isn’t that little boy anymore. He’s a young man, a fully grown male with feet that smell like death and razor stubble on his once petal-soft cheeks.

I want all of you,” he said. “I don’t want you holding back because you think I can’t take it—and I’m not just talking about spanking or whatnot. Let me decide for myself what I can take, yeah? I’ve said it before: I want to know you. I don’t want you to be afraid of that.” “You’re right. I am afraid,” I replied. Tugging on his hair gently, I gave him a self-deprecating smile. “You scare me.” “Why?” Such a simple question… so hard for me to answer. “Your persistence is part of it—you were so sure I would come around, and I don’t know why. Your optimism about us, frankly, is intimidating.” I shook my head and frowned, stroking the side of his face. “And… I can’t stop thinking about how you’re so young and sexy and smart and sweet and so new to all of this… and I’m… Well, I’m me.” I heaved a sigh. “And… because of your love. You know, Travis used to tell me all the time that he loved me?” “I’ll stop saying it if you want me t—” “No! No… Please don’t. I want to hear it. I need to hear it. I just wish I could turn off the switch in my brain that makes me—” I gestured in frustration to my head, and he nodded in understanding. “You know—fuck, you know I am absolutely crazy about you, kiddo, don’t you? You make me so fucking happy.” I had to clear my throat before I could continue. My chest ached and my pulse was racing again… But it was in a good way. “I’m happy with the way things are right now.” I frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you.” My hoarse whisper caused a wrinkle to appear between Emyr’s brows. He shook his head. “Again, you won’t. I won’t let you. Trust me. Please trust me, Greg. I’m not him

I stand on a vast grass field of many gently sloping hills. It is night, yet the sky is bright. There is no sun, but a hundred blazing blue stars, each shining in a long river of nebulous cloud. The air is warm, pleasant, fragrant with the perfume of a thousand invisible flowers. In the distance a stream of people walk toward a large vessel of some type, nestled between the hills. The ship is violet, glowing; the bright rays that stab forth from it seem to reach to the stars. Somehow I know that it is about to leave and that I am supposed to be on it. Yet, before I depart, there is something I have to discuss with Lord Krishna. He stands beside me on the wide plain, his gold flute in his right hand, a red lotus slower in his left. His dress is simple, as is mine - long blue gowns that reach to the ground. Only he wears a single jewel around his neck - the brilliant Kaustubha gem, in which the destiny of every soul can be seen. He does not look at me but toward the vast ship, and the stars beyond. He seems to be waiting for me to speak, but for some reason I cannot remember what he said last. I only know that I am a special case. Because I do not know what to ask, I say what is most on my mind. "When will I see you again, my Lord?" He gestures to the vast plain, the thousands of people leaving. "The earth is a place of time and dimension. Moments here can seem like an eternity there. It all depends on your heart. When you remember me, I am there in the blink of an eye." "Even on earth?" He nods. "Especially there. It is a unique place. Even the gods pray to take birth there." "Why that, my Lord?" He smiles faintly. His smile is bewitching. It has been said, I know, that the smile of the Lord has bewildered the minds of the angels. It has bewildered mine. "One question always leads to another question. Some things are better to wonder about." He turns toward me finally, his long black hair blowing in the soft night breeze. The stars reflect in his black pupils; the whole universe is there. The love that flows from him is the sweetest ambrosia in all the heavens. Yet it breaks my heart to feel because I know it will soon be gone. "It is all maya," he says. "Illusion." "Will I get lost in this illusion, my Lord?" "Of course. It is to be expected. You will be lost for a long time.

simple gesture carried so much significance to her. From her romantic novels, she knew the practice dated from chivalry when it was customary for a knight to bow to his mistress in a show of servitude. It meant he was offering himself to her wholeheartedly and without reservation, elevating her and giving her the choice to determine the future of their relationship. “Will you, would you, consider marrying me?

The Maker of all things is finding ways to make Himself known to those He has made. Maybe if I lived in a place like Kenya and had to wake up everyday wondering whether I'd have enough to eat and drink, and maybe if I had to wonder those same things about everyone I loved, then it wouldn't take grand, blatant gestures for me to appreciate God's provision. Maybe if I had a little less of what I need, then I would remember a little more how much I need Him.

The message of EFT is simple: Forget about learning how to argue better, analyzing your early childhood, making grand romantic gestures, or experimenting with new sexual positions. Instead, recognize and admit that you are emotionally attached to and dependent on your partner in much the same way that a child is on a parent for nurturing, soothing, and protection.

An idealism previously directed at gods and spirits has been rerouted towards human subjects – an ostensibly generous gesture nevertheless freighted with forbidding and brittle consequences, since it is no simple thing for any human being to honour over a lifetime the perfections he or she might have hinted at to an imaginative observer in the street, the office or the adjoining aeroplane seat.

Mirroring My Mate 15 MIN 1. Think about a moment from your day when you felt peaceful, then think of another moment when peace was absent. These examples should be short and simple. 2 MIN 2. Once you have two examples in mind, briefly review: My body: What was my body feeling? My emotions: What emotions were present? 2 MIN Here are two examples: Peace: While enjoying my cup of coffee this morning, I felt joyful, calm, and peaceful. No Peace: Driving to work, I was stuck in traffic. At that point I felt anxious and restless; my stomach twisted into tight knots. 3. Now, take turns telling your stories including body sensations and emotions. Listener, once your spouse finishes telling one story, tell the story back to him or her nonverbally (using your body gestures, facial expressions and acting-out movements) based on what you observed and heard. Do this for both stories. (This step improves mindsight.) 8 MIN REMINDER: The elements of a nonverbal story include eye contact, facial expressions, vocal expressions, posture, gestures, timing, and intensity. 4. When you both finish your stories, discuss what you noticed from this exercise, then close with some quiet cuddling and resting together. 3 MIN

The harder you try to resist the lure of seduction—as an idea, as a form of power—the more you will find yourself fascinated. The reason is simple: most of us have known the power of having someone fall in love with us. Our actions, gestures, the things we say, all have positive effects on this person; we may not completely understand what we have done right, but this feeling of power is intoxicating. It gives us confidence, which makes us more seductive. We may also experience this in a social or work setting—one day we are in an elevated mood and people seem more responsive, more charmed by us. These moments of power are fleeting, but they resonate in the memory with great intensity.

Love isn’t always shown in grand gestures,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the simple acts that mean the most.

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly. If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails. And you know what a smile means, don’t you? * I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while. * It was evening, and no longer summer. Three small fish, I don’t know what they were, huddled in the highest ripples as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body one gesture, one black sleeve that could fit easily around the bodies of three small fish. * Also I wanted to be able to love. And we all know how that one goes, don’t we? Slowly * the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water. * You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun. And anyway it’s the same old story – - - a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive. Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason. And nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world. * And look! look! look! I think those little fish better wake up and dash themselves away from the hopeless future that is bulging toward them. * And probably, if they don’t waste time looking for an easier world, they can do it.

Diane Louise Jordan Diane Louise Jordan is a British television presenter best known for her role in the long-running children’s program Blue Peter, which she hosted from 1990 until 1996. She is currently hosting BBC1’s religious show, Songs of Praise. Also noted for her charity work, Diane Louise Jordan is vice president of the National Children’s Home in England. We all need to be loved--whether we admit it or not. All of us. A friend of mine recalled how, when in Rwanda a few years ago, he was taken to visit a lady in the slums. She was in agony because of an AIDS-related illness and had just hours to live. He described the inadequate dirt-floor shack that was her home among unbearable squalor. And yet he said it wasn’t the intense poverty or painful illness that struck him most, but rather the compassion of her friend who kept vigil. A friend who used no words, just silent tears, to express the deep feelings she had for her dying companion. In a similar way, it wasn’t words that stirred international attention, but the silent image of two people holding hands. One an HIV/AIDS sufferer and the other a “fairy-tale” princess. When Diana, Princess of Wales, held the hand of that seriously ill man back in the 1980s, many boundaries were crossed, many stigmas defeated. At that time, fear of death by AIDS had gripped the world so savagely that we were in danger of losing our humanity. Yet all it took to crush the storm of fear was a simple loving gesture. Princess Diana was good at that. She had the courage to follow her instincts, even if it meant being countercultural. She made it her job to be kind and loving.

Leaving the Connecticut River March 8, 1704 Temperature 40 degrees Thou shalt not kill. Ruth lay down and inched forward until she could look over the edge of the cliff to see what had happened. The force of Otter’s fall had brought snow and rock down upon him. One hand stuck out, and part of his face. But I say unto you which hear. Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you…And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other. What could Jesus have been thinking when he said that? This enemy was the murderer and slaughterer of innocent women and children. Ruth was not going to love him, she would never do anything good unto him, and certainly she was not going to offer him yet another chance to strike her in the face. She rejoiced that this enemy had no choice about living or dying, any more than her father and brother had had a choice about living or dying. She thought of her mother, giving water to the wounded French officer, and for that gesture, being left behind. She wondered how Mother felt now, alone in a world where her men had died to save her while she helped their enemies. The savage was alive, trying with that one hand to dig himself free. A rim of ice fell like knives upon him. Ruth cried out. The Indian made no sound. Ruth scuttled backward, out of his sight. She could go get help. Or let him die. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t supposed to be Ruth who had to love the enemy. That was just a verse you repeated in meeting. She was not going to take it seriously, loving her enemy. But it was the Word of the Lord. The Twenty-third Psalm moved through her mind, as warm and sure as summer wind. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. If she broke the commandment and failed to love her enemy, she would never lie down in green pastures. Not on earth, not in her heart, and not in death. Ruth worked her way through tangles of thin saplings and around boulders. She slid down rock faces. Sweating and sobbing over terrain that could not have been made by God, only by devils, she reached Otter at last. Her bad lungs sounded like sand rubbed on floors. She dug him out, not carefully. She might have to save him but she would not spare him pain. He was bleeding where ice had sliced him and by now her mittens were shredded, and their blood mingled, flecked scarlet on white snow. When he was finally on his feet, she said, “It’s not because I wanted to, you know.” Otter took a short careful step and paused in pain, Ruth thought, though pain did not show on his face. “It’s so I won’t be a killer like you,” she said. He snapped a branch in his strong hands to use as a cane. Laboriously, they made their way up the cliff, crawling part of the way. “Actually, I hate you,” said Ruth. Huge hot tears fell from her eyes and she knew that hate was not as simple as that. Nor were the commandments.

You allowed the girl to stay just long enough to ensure that Gareth would become enchanted with her — then, when he annoyed you, as he inevitably would, you sent her away. How very cruel, my friend!  To use the poor girl to punish your brother!  But no. That is not like you to be so heartless. Thus, I can only conclude that you are up to something, though what it could be, I have yet to fathom."  He shot Lucien a sideways glance. "Are you certain she's the one Charles was so smitten with?" Lucien was sitting back, smiling and idly watching the musicians. "Dead certain." "And the child?" "The spitting image of her father." "And yet you sent them away."  Fox shook his head. "What were you thinking of?" The duke turned his head, raising his brows in feigned surprise. "My dear Roger. You know me better than that. Do you think I would actually banish them?" "'Tis what your sister told me when I arrived." 'Ah, but 'tis what I want my sister to believe," he countered, smoothly. "And my two brothers — especially, Gareth."  He sipped his port, then swirled the liquid in the glass, studying it reflectively. "Besides, Roger, if you must know, I did not send the girl away — I merely made her feel so awkward that she had no desire to remain." "Is there a difference?" "But of course. She made the decision to leave, which means she maintains both her pride and a small modicum of respect, if not liking for me — which I may find useful at a future date. Gareth thinks I sent her away, which means he is perfectly furious with me. The result? She leaves, and he chases after her, which is exactly what I wanted him to do."  He chuckled. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he finds her and the two of them discover my hand in all this..." "Lucien, your eyes are gleaming with that cunning amusement that tells me you're up to something especially Machiavellian." "Is that so? Then I fear I must work harder at concealing the obvious." Fox gave him a shrewd look. "This is most confusing, as I'm sure you intend it to be. You know the child is Charles's and yet you will not acknowledge her ... and this after Charles expressly asked you to make her your ward?" "Really, Roger. There is no need to make the child my ward when Gareth, in all likelihood, will adopt her as his daughter." The barrister narrowed his eyes. "You have some superior, ulterior motive that evades us mere mortals." "But of course," Lucien murmured yet again, lifting his glass and idly sipping its dark liquid. "And perhaps you can explain it to this mere mortal?" "My dear Fox. It is quite simple, really. Drastic problems call for drastic solutions. By sending the girl away, I have set in motion my plan for Gareth's salvation. If things go as I expect, he will stay so furious with me that he will not only charge headlong to her rescue — but headlong into marriage with her." "Bloody hell!  Lucien, the girl's completely ill-suited for him!" "On the contrary. I have observed them together, Fox. They compliment each other perfectly. As for the girl, what she lacks in wealth and social standing she more than makes up for in courage, resolve, common sense, and maturity. Gareth, whether he knows it or not, needs someone just like her. It is my hope that she will — shall I say — reform him." Fox shook his head and bit into a fine piece of Cheshire. "You're taking a risk in assuming Gareth will even find her." "Oh, he'll find her. I have no doubt about that."  Lucien gestured for a footman, who promptly stepped forward and refilled his glass. "He's already half in love with her as it is. Gareth is nothing if not persistent." "Yes, and he is also given to rashness, poor judgment, and an unhealthy appetite for dissolute living." "Indeed. And that, my dear Fox, is exactly what I believe the girl will cure him of.

I got these for you." Andy makes himself tag on those last two words so Nick will know this wasn't an errand; it's a gesture. It's someone bringing flowers to the person he loves. Simple as that.

Without love, life becomes meaningless. Without love, life becomes a burden. Without love, there is nothing worthwhile. Without  love, how can you dance in life? Without love, there is nothing to feel joyous about. There is nothing to feel grateful for. If you try to dance, it will be false, and it will not norish you. It will not rejuvenate you. Just as the body needs food, the soul needs love.  One can dance without love, but it will it will only be mechanical  - and the soul will be missing. It will only be the body doing empty gestures.  One can smile, but there will be no smile in the heart. It will be an empty smile with no depth, with no roots in our inner being.  When you learn the secret of love, you will know all the secrets of life. And the secret of love is simple: drop the ego, and love will start overflowing in you. Drop the ego, and you will become an ocean of love. And then life will become a spiritual dance.  When life becomes a dance, you have known God, because it is God that dances. Love is the path to God, and the ego is the barrier. This is the key to unlock all the doors of the divine. 

She was never able, after her education in the movies, to look at a face and not assign it some category in the scale of absolute beauty, and the scale was one she absorbed in full from the silver screen. There at last were the darkened woods, the lonely roads, the river banks, the gentle knowing eyes. There the flawed became whole, the blind sighted, and the lame and halt threw away their crutches. There death was dead, and people made every gesture in a cloud of music. There the black-and-white images came together, making a magnificent whole—all projected through the ray of light from above and behind. It was really a simple pleasure, but she learned all there was to love and all there was to hate.

What love needs to grow, more than incredibly romantic gestures or grand displays of courage, is commitment. Plain and simple. Keep pursuing your muse, that woman who captured your heart in a single moment and refused to let go. You must never stop the chase, even when it looks like you’ve gotten what you sought. Commit to a lifetime pursuit of her, and she will always take you deeper than you could go on your own.

Love isn’t about grand fireworks and epic gestures; love is simple, and it’s forever

I know that something as incredibly mundane as a 'Good morning' text may have made all the difference in the world. It's ok if that\s the case. It's okay to sometimes ache for those simple and kind-hearted gestures, Because the truth is that good morning texts are more than a half-hearted means of communication. They are a sign that we are thought of. Cared for. Adored, by someone who may not be immediately present. They are a reminder - one we may perhaps should not need but sometimes do - that we are appreciated in our entireties.

Dear Secrets of the Earth, You are a place beyond belief. You are home to many, but only a few are able to understand you. When the wind is whooshing, it sounds like wind chimes. When the breeze offers its sweet gestures, it opens my heart and soul to be still and let everything—just be. The sky looks like a painting. It is a limitless portrait! When the streams collide, you can see the reflection of the sea of clouds. When the wind is whistling, it calms the meadow of the thoughts that form in my mind. The night air has such a deep definition of the earthbound because everything is asleep as it is firmly attached to the earth without movement—just resting to prepare for the next day. I always wondered how a wildflower can be so soft when it is stepped on and covered by weeds. It is because the earth has covered it in boundless, endless love. I am a wildflower; there is no such thing as being tamed; we take what is given and somehow find our way. I’ve been to thirteen homes in all. Yet, I still somehow and somewhere let love shine through the darkest hours, which lead to days. However, just like the wildflower, I am still here. Dear Secrets of the Earth, what are your golden rules? Is it to just go with the flow? Love endlessly without regret? Live and learn from your mistakes? Or is it something simple, such as continue to have faith while we reach for the stars? If so, could you give me a boost? Thank you for your company.

His other hand slid softly beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. He bent to kiss her, but Poppy turned her face away. “I’m the same man who kissed you on the terrace,” she heard him say. “You liked it well enough then.” Poppy could hardly speak with his hand cupping her breast. “Not anymore.” A kiss meant more to her than a simple physical gesture. It was a gift of love, of affection, or at the very least liking, and she felt none of those things for him. He might have the right to her body, but not to her heart.

There were so many different ways to say “I love you.” As Peyton went back over to Novo and pulled her against him once more, he reflected that those three words were certainly the most common transmission of the sacred emotion between two souls. But there were other ways. Gestures, gifts, the rebuilding of a barn after a fire, the shoveling of a walkway, even something as simple as carrying groceries in from the car. Novo was telling him she loved him by sharing this terrible truth,

[W]e're challenged daily to act lovingly on our own behalf. Simple gestures of respect—care of the body, rest for the mind, and beauty for the soul in the form of music and art or nature—are all ways of showing ourselves love.

For the Romantic, it is only the briefest of steps from a glimpse of a stranger to the formulation of a majestic and substantial conclusion: that he or she may constitute a comprehensive answer to the unspoken questions of existence. The intensity may seem trivial—humorous, even—yet this reverence for instinct is not a minor planet within the cosmology of relationships. It is the underlying central sun around which contemporary ideals of love revolve. The Romantic faith must always have existed, but only in the past few centuries has it been judged anything more than an illness; only recently has the search for a soul mate been allowed to take on the status of something close to the purpose of life. An idealism previously directed at gods and spirits has been rerouted towards human subjects—an ostensibly generous gesture nevertheless freighted with forbidding and brittle consequences, for it is no simple thing for any human being to honor over a lifetime the perfections he or she might have hinted at to an imaginative observer in the street, the office, or the adjoining airplane seat.