Sung Woo Quotes

My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His None ever was in love with me but grief. She wooed me from the day that I was born; She stole my playthings first, the jealous thief, And left me there forlorn. The birds that in my garden would have sung, She scared away with her unending moan; She slew my lovers too when I was young, And left me there alone. Grief, I have cursed thee often—now at last To hate thy name I am no longer free; Caught in thy bony arms and prisoned fast, I love no love but thee.

Is it due to excess of poetry or of stupidity that we are never weary of describing what King James called a woman's 'makdom and her fairnesse', never weary of listening to the twanging of the old Troubadour strings, and are comparatively uninterested in that other kind of 'makdom and fairnesse' which must be wooed with industrious thought and patient renunciation of small desires? In the story of this passion, too, the development varies: sometimes it is the glorious marriage, sometimes frustration and final parting. And not seldom the catastrophe is bound up with the other passion, sung by the Troubadours.

Koreans never had an easy time integrating into Japanese life and often were targets of prejudice. The North Korean propaganda thus resonated with many in the diaspora, and thousands responded to Kim Il-Sung’s call to return. Well-to-do Koreans such as my grandparents could be expected to be wooed with an equal measure of ideological arguments and fantastical promises: there were managerial positions awaiting them, they were entitled to a beautiful home, they would have no material worries, and their children would be able to study in Moscow.

Even though there were hundreds if not thousands of people in a hotel, it was a place of collective loneliness. No matter who you were -- a couple vacationing, a businessman on a trip, a conventioneer -- you were away from home, from all the things that made you who you were.

Because at the core of it, he loved to play the game more than he wanted to win it. Which meant that he lacked the killer instinct that all champions have, that drive that gave them the impetus to win at all costs.

Life was one big story, comprised of littler stories that people told themselves to get through the day, and each day lived consciously was a victory in itself.

She was living in the present but was preoccupied with the future's past, doing exactly what years of therapy had told her not to do. You were supposed to live in the moment, because that's all there ever was, and yet it was maybe the hardest thing to do.

Was this empty void better than hatred or disgust? She didn't know. Maybe it was an improvement, to see her father as what he was, a task to be performed because her brother asked her to.

Right here was her favorite part of sex. Judy had borne witness to her share of masculine denouements to know of their obvious commonalities -- the quickening of breath, the increased force of motion, the eventual spasm, and the long, satisfied sigh. But at the same time, they were as singular as snowflakes, and Judy believed she could tell a lot about a man from his brief ride through penile ecstasy. Because here, there were no walls, just a clear window into the vulnerable truth of a person.

Being with a woman he liked had been like the quenching of thirst, but with Alice, there was no release. His desire for her was a constant, pervasive hum, chugging along in the background of his mind. Holy shit, he thought to himself. This is love.

They'd pass the time talking about some vapid TV show or the latest popcorn flick, never talking about anything of consequence, but when you stacked up these incidental layers of small talk, they added up to a level of comfort impossible to duplicate in any other relationship.