Virgins Motivational Quotes

I can honestly say that I have never gone into any business purely to make money. If that is the sole motive then I believe you are better off not doing it. A business has to be involving, it has to be fun, and it has to exercise your creative instincts.

Freedom from stress, freedom from anxiety, freedom from depression; freedom is autonomy from all that stagnates growth in this ever complex and noisy world. By the fear of being in the unknown, we often overlook and forget the serene view of being on the raft: the glowing virgin stars, the gentle ways that the waves moves, and the endless possibilities that exist under the sun. The fundamental principle of freedom is to be lost and our state of mind never differs too far from this analogy of being stranded in the middle of the ocean.

The word of lust touches the body, the word of love touches the soul: feed the soul and starve the body.

BLESSINGS ARE IMMEASURABLE You can Lose a child Or a parent, The love of your life, A good job, A game, A deal, A bet, An idea, Your favorite thing, Money, Your best friend, A moment, An opportunity, A chance, Your keys, Your mind, Your health, Your identity, Your virginity, Your religion, Your shirt, Your license, ID or Passport, Phone or phone number, Hope, Faith, Luck, Your pride, Or your house, And feel like You've lost everything, And keep on losing. Stop Counting losses And start counting your blessings. Only then, Will you discover that losses Are easier to point out And count Than blessings, And that blessings Outnumber your losses For they are truly Immeasurable. It is only normal that People count losses with Their minds, And ignore To count blessings With the graciousness Of their hearts.

Before marriage, you lose your virginity. After marriage, you get to give it away. Which would you rather experience?

The day when you find your true love, the day when you loose your virginity, the day when you buy a car or a house are often consider as the most important day of ones life but for me the most important day is when you find why you were born.

Țăranii, în orice caz cei cu oarecare stare, nu aveau niciun motiv să se lase atrași de ideologia comunistă: doreau să-și rotunjească proprietățile, nicidecum să le piardă; țăranii săraci, pe de altă parte, erau și teribil de incluți, mulți dintre ei analfabeți, așa încât prea puțini aveau tentații ideologice, comuniste sau de orice altă natură. [...] Nici n-aveau un nivel intelectual de natură să contracareze impactul ideologic al comunismului; „învățătura” comunistă s-a așezat la ei pe un teren virgin. Au fost ușor captați de comunism. Li s-a oferit o promovare socială aproape instantanee la care nici n-ar fi visat. Au avut și satisfacția de a vedea cum în timp ce ei urcă, alții, care față de ei fuseseră până atunci atât de sus, coboară sau se prăbușesc (e și asta o delectare care ține de latura mai puțin lăudabilă a psihologiei umane). S-ar zice că egalitarismul comunist a fost pedeapsa primită de România pentru inegalitarismul anterior.

My mother named me Vivia Perpetua because she believed naming me after some long-dead, mostly forgotten saint would motivate me to spend my life collecting unused eyeglasses for the blind or doling out mosquito netting to malaria-plagued Africans. Not that there is anything wrong with those efforts, but please." Vivia in Faking It

The equivalent of the moth’s light-compass reaction is the apparently irrational but useful habit of falling in love with one, and only one, member of the opposite sex. The misfiring by-product—equivalent to flying into the candle flame—is falling in love with Yahweh (or with the Virgin Mary, or with a wafer, or with Allah) and performing irrational acts motivated by such love.

Travel is just as much a journey inward as it is a journey out. As we soar the skies and sail the waters and crack the virgin soils of the earth, we too delve into our own caverns, peek around the corners of our dreams, tremble before our fire-breathing terrors, axe to splinters our biases and judgments and beliefs, and discover the uncharted wonders of our psyches and our hearts.

Not those qualities! she wanted to shout. Why were men so basic? Why did they only ever think about one thing—sex? Well, actually, it was two things. Sex and power. Forget everything else—they seemed to be the only two things that motivated the male species. And normally she didn’t even think about sex. So why was it that, since the Sultan’s bodyguard had removed his fencing mask and revealed his impossibly handsome face, she’d thought about little else?

their footfalls? Finally some combination thereof, or these many things as permutations of each other—as alternative vocabularies? However it was, by January I was winnowed, and soon dispensed with pills and analysis (the pills I was weaned from gradually), and took up my unfinished novel again, Our Lady of the Forest, about a girl who sees the Virgin Mary, a man who wants a miracle, a priest who suffers spiritual anxiety, and a woman in thrall to cynicism. It seems to me now that the sum of those figures mirrors the shape of my psyche before depression, and that the territory of the novel forms a map of my psyche in the throes of gathering disarray. The work as code for the inner life, and as fodder for my own biographical speculations. Depression, in this conceit, might be grand mal writer’s block. Rather than permitting its disintegration at the hands of assorted unburied truths risen into light as narrative, the ego incites a tempest in the brain, leaving the novelist to wander in a whiteout with his half-finished manuscript awry in his arms, where the wind might blow it away. I don’t find this facile. It seems true—or true for me—that writing fiction is partly psychoanalysis, a self-induced and largely unconscious version. This may be why stories threaten readers with the prospect of everything from the merest dart wound to a serious breach in the superstructure. To put it another way, a good story addresses the psyche directly, while the gatekeeper ego, aware of this trespass—of a message sent so daringly past its gate, a compelling dream insinuating inward—can only quaver through a story’s reading and hope its ploys remains unilluminated. Against a story of penetrating virtuosity—The Metamorphosis, or Lear on the heath—this gatekeeper can only futilely despair, and comes away both revealed and provoked, and even, at times, shattered. In lesser fiction—fiction as entertainment, narcissism, product, moral tract, or fad—there is also some element of the unconscious finding utterance, chiefly because it has the opportunity, but in these cases its clarity and force are diluted by an ill-conceived motive, and so it must yield control of the story to the transparently self-serving ego, to that ostensible self with its own small agenda in art as well as in life. * * * Like

Cînd iubeşti o fiinţă, momentele de reală cunoaştere sunt extrem de rare; apariţia lor se datoreaza unui minus de iubire. Cînd ajungi uneori să-ţi dai seama din afară, cu o perspectivă obiectivă, că femeia care-ţi şerpuieşte ca o obsesie intreaga ta fiinţă, care a crescut organic in tine seamănă cu oricare alta ca adîncime sufletească sau cînd înţelegi că zîmbetul ei nu e unic, ci perfect reversibil; cand o poţi înseria şi încadra în rîndul celorlalte şi găseşti explicaţii generale pentru reacţiile ei individuale, atunci cunoaşterea a suplinit dureros elanurile iubirii. lubirea este o fugă de adevăr. Şi iubim cu adevărat numai cînd nu vrem adevărul. Iubirea împotriva adevărului, iată o lupta pentru viaţă, pentru propriile extazuri şi pentru propriile greşeli. Pe fiinţa ce o iubim o cunoaştem cu adevărat numai după ce n-o mai iubim, cînd am devenit lucizi, clari, seci şi goi. Şi în iubire nu putem cunoaşte, fiindcă persoana ce o iubim actualizează numai un potenţial lăuntric de iubire. Realitatea primordială şi efectivă este iubirea din noi. Pentru aceasta iubim. Iubesc iubirea din mine, iubesc iubirea mea. Femeia este pretextul indispensabil care-mi aduce într-un ritm intens pulsaţiile timide ale iubirii. Nu poate exista o iubire pur subiectivă. Dar între abandonarea în experienţa voluptuoasă a iubirii ca stare pură şi abandonarea în culmile unei alte fiinţe, întîia este cea primordială. Iubim o femeie, fiindcă ne este scumpă iubirea noastră. Singurătatea sexelor şi lupta sălbatică între bărbat şi femeie îşi au izvorul în această interioritate a iubirii. Căci în iubire ne gustăm, ne savurăm pe noi înşine, ne încîntăm de voluptăţile tremurului nostru erotic. Din acest motiv, iubirea este cu atît mai intensă şi mai profundă, cu cît distanţa de persoana iubită este mai mare. Prezenţa ei fizică face din sentimentul nostru ceva prea orientat, cu o direcţie prea determinată, încît ceea ce este în noi cu adevărat trăire erotică pură, elan subiectiv, ne pare a veni din afară, desprinzîndu-se din prezenţa fizică a persoanei iubite. Numai iubirea de departe, iubirea care creşte alimentată de fatalitatea spaţiului, numai aceasta se prezintă ca stare pură. Atunci ai priză directă pe adinca ei interioritate, atunci trăieşti iubirea ca iubire, adîncindu-te în zvacniriIe unui sentiment, în farmecul lui voluptuos, care face suferinţele fluide, le topeşte ca într-o iluzie. La oamenii cu multă imaginaţie şi cu o viaţă interioară complicată, se găseşte nu arareori o astfel de purificare a iubirii încît ei trăiesc elanurile iubirii in ceea ce ele au suav, virginal, în volutele vitale ale iubirii, în pulsaţiile ei pure, în potenţialul erotic ca atare, inainte ca o fiinţă să fi trezit la viaţă şi să fi actualizat acest potenţial. Contopirea în tremurul vital, în iubirea ca germen, în iubirea ca dorinţă face din sufletul acestor oameni fîntîni nesecate de stări cristaline în puritatea lor.

Beauty Void lay the world, in nothingness concealed, Without a trace of light or life revealed, Save one existence which second knew- Unknown the pleasant words of We and You. Then Beauty shone, from stranger glances free, Seen of herself, with naught beside to see, With garments pure of stain, the fairest flower Of virgin loveliness in bridal bower. No combing hand had smoothed a flowing tress, No mirror shown her eyes their loveliness No surma dust those cloudless orbs had known, To the bright rose her cheek no bulbul flown. No heightening hand had decked the rose with green, No patch or spot upon that cheek was seen. No zephyr from her brow had fliched a hair, No eye in thought had seen the splendour there. Her witching snares in solitude she laid, And love's sweet game without a partner played. But when bright Beauty reigns and knows her power She springs indignant from her curtained bower. She scorns seclusion and eludes the guard, And from the window looks if doors be barred. See how the tulip on the mountain grown Soon as the breath of genial Spring has blown, Bursts from the rock, impatient to display Her nascent beauty to the eye of day. When sudden to thy soul reflection brings The precious meaning of mysterious things, Thou canst not drive the thought from out thy brain; Speak, hear thou must, for silence is such pain. So beauty ne'er will quit the urgent claim Whose motive first from heavenly beauty came When from her blessed bower she fondly strayed, And to the world and man her charms displayed. In every mirror then her face was shown, Her praise in every place was heard and known. Touched by her light, the hearts of angels burned, And, like the circling spheres, their heads were turned, While saintly bands, whom purest at the sight of her, And those who bathe them in the ocean sky Cries out enraptured, "Laud to God on high!" Rays of her splendour lit the rose's breast And stirred the bulbul's heart with sweet unrest. From her bright glow its cheek the flambeau fired, And myriad moths around the flame expired. Her glory lent the very sun the ray Which wakes the lotus on the flood to-day. Her loveliness made Laila's face look fair To Majnún, fettered by her every hair. She opened Shírín's sugared lips, and stole From Parvíz' breast and brave Farhád's the soul. Through her his head the Moon of Canaan raised, And fond Zulaikha perished as she gazed. Yes, though she shrinks from earthly lovers' call, Eternal Beauty is the queen of all; In every curtained bower the screen she holds, About each captured heart her bonds enfolds. Through her sweet love the heart its life retains, The soul through love of her its object gains. The heart which maidens' gentle witcheries stir Is, though unconscious, fired with love of her. Refrain from idle speech; mistake no more: She brings her chains and we, her slaves, adore. Fair and approved of Love, thou still must own That gift of beauty comes from her alone. Thou art concealed: she meets all lifted eyes; Thou art the mirror which she beautifies. She is that mirror, if we closely view The truth- the treasure and the treasury too. But thou and I- our serious work is naught; We waste our days unmoved by earnest thought. Cease, or my task will never end, for her Sweet beauties lack a meet interpreter. Then let us still the slaves of love remain For without love we live in vain, in vain. Jámí, "Yúsuf and Zulaikha". trans. Ralph T. H. Griffith. Ballantyne Press 1882. London. p.19-22

beaten and humiliated and experience indescribable suffering and anguish. Will become sin offering and die on job. To qualify: Must be male, minimum age 30. Father must be God, mother must be of house and lineage of David, must have been virgin when he was born. Adopted father must also be of house of David. Must have sinless blood and spotless record. Must have been born in Bethlehem and raised in Nazareth. Must be self-motivated, with aggressive personality and burning desire to help people. Must have tremendous knowledge of Old Testament and firm reliance on biblical principles. Must incorporate the foresight of Noah, the faith of Abraham, the patience of Job, the faithfulness of Joseph, the meekness of Moses, the courage of Joshua, the heart of David, the wisdom of Solomon, the boldness of Elijah, the power of Elisha, the eloquence of Isaiah, the commitment of Jeremiah, the vision of Ezekiel and the love of God. Wages: Holy spirit (without measure) to start. Additional payoff in intimacy with God and receiving revelation as necessary to complete job. Constant on-job training, supervision and guidance by top-level management. Benefits: Position will lead to highly exalted position in future if job carried out successfully. Workman’s compensation: Injuries sustained on job, including death, well compensated by promotion including new body. Management will highly promote name upon successful completion of job, and entire publicity department will be devoted to getting name before multitudes. Will assume presidency of expanding international venture (The Ministry of Reconciliation), as Head of Body of well-equipped members ready to move dynamic new product on world market. All in all, tremendous eternal potential for growth and rewards in return on initial investment of giving life. If qualified, management will contact you. No need to apply.

Do not let your feet touch fire, a Guru, or a Brahmin, and it also should not touch a cow, a virgin girl, an aged person, or a child.

Ten shockingly arty events What arty types like to call a ‘creative tension’ exists in art and music, about working right at the limits of public taste. Plus, there’s money to be made there. Here’s ten examples reflecting both motivations. Painting: Manet’s Breakfast on the Lawn, featuring a group of sophisticated French aristocrats picnicking outside, shocked the art world back in 1862 because one of the young lady guests is stark naked! Painting: Balthus’s Guitar Lesson (1934), depicting a teacher fondling the private parts of a nude pupil, caused predictable uproar. The artist claimed this was part of his strategy to ‘make people more aware’. Music: Jump to 1969 when Jimi Hendrix performed his own interpretation of the American National Anthem at the hippy festival Woodstock, shocking the mainstream US. Film: In 1974 censors deemed Night Porter, a film about a love affair between an ex-Nazi SS commander and his beautiful young prisoner (featuring flashbacks to concentration camp romps and lots of sexy scenes in bed with Nazi apparel), out of bounds. Installation: In December 1993 the 50-metre-high obelisk in the Place Concorde in the centre of Paris was covered in a giant fluorescent red condom by a group called ActUp. Publishing: In 1989 Salman Rushdie’s novel Satanic Verses outraged Islamic authorities for its irreverent treatment of Islam. In 2005 cartoons making political points about Islam featuring the prophet Mohammed likewise resulted in riots in many Muslim cities around the world, with several people killed. Installation: In 1992 the soon-to-be extremely rich English artist Damien Hirst exhibited a 7-metre-long shark in a giant box of formaldehyde in a London art gallery – the first of a series of dead things in preservative. Sculpture: In 1999 Sotheby’s in London sold a urinoir or toilet-bowl-thing by Marcel Duchamp as art for more than a million pounds ($1,762,000) to a Greek collector. He must have lost his marbles! Painting: Also in 1999 The Holy Virgin Mary, a painting by Chris Ofili representing the Christian icon as a rather crude figure constructed out of elephant dung, caused a storm. Curiously, it was banned in Australia because (like Damien Hirst’s shark) the artist was being funded by people (the Saatchis) who stood to benefit financially from controversy. Sculpture: In 2008 Gunther von Hagens, also known as Dr Death, exhibited in several European cities a collection of skinned corpses mounted in grotesque postures that he insists should count as art.

The Masterpiece? Head down, she obeys... Her mind, a virgin canvas, World paints its own strokes.

Life moves too quick to ask for accommodation. Not only are people unable to assist you every step of the way, but they won’t always know how themselves. You are a reader of the moment and moments are everchanging, as we are, and so to merge with the virginity of time is to integrate yourself into the universe. The universe is always clearing the goal, revealing itself, and asks of you one thing: feed the world your intuition. Advice is finite.

It was a peculiarity of Smiley's character that throughout the whole of his clandestine work he had never managed to reconcile the means to the end. A stringent critic of his own motives, he had discovered after long observation that he tended to be less a creature of intellect than his tastes and habits might suggest; once in the war he had been described by his superiors as possessing the cunning of Satan and the conscience of a virgin, which seemed to him not wholly unjust.

The day when you find your true love, the day when you lose your virginity, the day when you buy a car or a house are often consider as the most important day of ones life but for me the most important day is when you find why you were born.

stopped seeking further knowledge or deeper sexual insight and instead, unknowingly, claimed self-righteousness and badge-earning as my source of motivation for virginity. I had missed