Uncategorized Quotes - Page 145

Throw out old clothes and shoes, and train your brain to get rid of old thoughts and ideas.

if the ocean can calm itself, so can you.we are both salt water mixed with air.

If, however, I am allowed to think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it may be the means—it may put me on my guard—at least, it may be something to live for.

Patience is the path to opportunities. We gain patience through prayer and meditation. Within that vein, we never consider ourselves having failed.

Love is the universal language.

Let our road be long, let it be very long, let it be very very long and in fact let our road be infinite! Travel means flow, flow means life!

You have to have a plot too, you know? Because without it, your life is less of a story and more of an empty paper.

I dwell on positive and beauty of life.

Life is what it is...And even without having everything you desire...It is still gloriously beautiful...

I cannot stress this enough: do not take powerful hallucinogens before going to a Holocaust memorial.

For thousands of years humans were oppressed— as some of us still are— by the notion that the universe is a marionette whose strings are pulled by a god or gods, unseen and inscrutable. Then, 2,500 years ago, there was a glorious awakening in Ionia: on Samos and the other nearby Greek colonies that grew up among the islands and inlets of the busy eastern Aegean Sea. Suddenly there were people who believed that everything was made of atoms; that human beings and other animals had sprung from simpler forms; that diseases were not caused by demons or the gods; that the Earth was only a planet going around the Sun. And that the stars were very far away.

So what oppresses and scares us? It is our own thoughts, obviously, What overwhelms people when they are about to leaves friends, family, old haunts and their accustomed way of life? Thoughts.

Live with grace and dignity. It's a middle finger to the darkness

Every new travel brings new transformation.

A person imbued with compassion and self-understanding can readily love oneself and exhibit endless sympathy for all people. A person who is unkind to their self can never transcend their corrupt barriers much less run into the world with open arms enthusiastically embracing humankind and all of nature with uninhibited friendliness and goodwill.

You won't find your dream until you lose your excuses.

35t“Everyone has a dream, a vision, a goal and a desire. Just because we have bigger dreams than others doesn’t mean they don’t have one. Sometimes we just too lazy to make it happen or are scared of failing.”But trying is better than not doing anything at all.

I would surmise that we must cherish the resources that God has given us to achieve a goal more than we cherish the goal itself. For if we fall victim to the pursuit of the goal alone, then the goal has suddenly become our god.

The mass State has no intention of promoting mutual understanding and the relationship of man to man; it strives, rather, for atomization, for the psychic isolation of the individual.

You cannot control the results, only your actions.

Write a complaint letter. Then answer it.

Hadn’t retired reporter Stan warned him of how protective Cosimo was of his granddaughters? What if the Carusos had discovered his identity and wanted to rub him out as they’d rubbed out his father?Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now andat the hour of our death.

So...you really feel a difference from drinking it?" Lad asked. I nodded. He nearly jumped out of the chair and charged past me to the kitchen. I followed him. "What are you doing?" "Getting you a refill.

The seeker after stillness should be told that the stillness is always there. Indeed it is in every man. But he has to learn, first, to let it in and, second, how to do so. The first beginning of this is to remember. The second is to recognize the inward pull. For the rest, the stillness itself will guide and lead him to itself.

Sometimes I think of rebuilding my friendship with old friends. But at the same time, there's a reason why we fell off. Shit happens, but life's good.

Having priorities is essential. So is having them in the right order.

The profoundest thing writing teaches us is how much we contradict ourselves.

My prayers, my tears, my wishes, fears, and lamentations, were witnessed by myself and heaven alone. When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties, or long oppressed by any powerful feelings which we must keep to ourselves, for which we can obtain and seek no sympathy from any living creature, and which yet we cannot, or will not wholly crush, we often naturally seek relief in poetry—and often find it, too—whether in the effusions of others, which seem to harmonize with our existing case, or in our own attempts to give utterance to those thoughts and feelings in strains less musical, perchance, but more appropriate, and therefore more penetrating and sympathetic, and, for the time, more soothing, or more powerful to rouse and to unburden the oppressed and swollen heart.

We all have to learn to live with our losses, and to use our regrets to spur us on in the future.

The journey we take is not meant to be taken alone we're to take it together.

The Secret to Focusing on your Dream is to touch it every single day of your life.

My parents...were people running from the past, who didn't look back at much if they could help it, and whose whole life always lay somewhere in the offing.

You can't have all the answers now or you could never grow from making a choice. If you want to grow, you must face adversity and make decisions without having all the answers.

Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning.

People who tell untruths are easily deceived because they have placed their energy in that negative vibration location and are now a match for that behavior.

You know what I mean. I'm telling you I was stupid over it. I thought it was about trying so hard to survive that you didn't have the time to be a good parent. Obviously, that's not it. Because you and I, we're both...wealthy in love.

I stopped looking at the cars after the first few miles. Once I started to see past the exteriors, I saw what lay inside some of them and felt the urge to sprint to the nearest freeway exit. Some people had tried to outrun The Plague by leaving town. They hadn't realized the illness could still find them in their cars, and now the 405 was one of the largest graveyards in the world. I thought for a moment about all of the other cities across the globe that probably had scenes just like this. My eyes stung, wondering if my mother, my dad, or any of my friends were in similar graveyards.I made the mistake of glancing into an overturned Volkswagen Beetle as I passed and saw a pair of legs clad in jeans and white Jack Purcell sneakers in the shadows of the car. They reminded me of Sarah's shoes. The man who laced those up that morning hadn't realized he wouldn't be taking them off again.

None of my mental activities for the past twenty-four hours might be called thinking. I had allowed my body to take charge. It knew far more about escaping and healing than I did.

Have You Prayed” When the windturns and asks, in my father’s voice,Have you prayed?I know three things. One:I’m never finished answering to the dead.Two: A man is four winds and three fires.And the four winds are his father’s voice,his mother’s voice . . .Or maybe he’s seven winds and ten fires.And the fires are seeing, hearing, touching,dreaming, thinking . . .Or is he the breath of God?When the wind turns travelerand asks, in my father’s voice, Have you prayed?I remember three things.One: A father’s loveis milk and sugar,two-thirds worry, two-thirds grief, and what’s left overis trimmed and leavened to make the breadthe dead and the living share.And patience? That’s to endurethe terrible leavening and kneading.And wisdom? That’s my father’s face in sleep.When the windasks, Have you prayed?I know it’s only mereminding myselfa flower is one station betweenearth’s wish and earth’s rapture, and bloodwas fire, salt, and breath long beforeit quickened any wand or branch, any limbthat woke speaking. It’s just mein the gowns of the wind,or my father through me, asking,Have you found your refuge yet?asking, Are you happy?Strange. A troubled father. A happy son.The wind with a voice. And me talking to no one.

God has given us all our unique story. It's not one that flows easily or pretty, but the story is ours! Find it and treasure it...

I trust a few people in my life but there is one who gets my full trust. and that is my book.

Once we are lost unto ourselves, everything else is lost to us.

In the same essay, Said (who is reviewing Peter Stansky and William Abrams, co-authors obsessed with the Blair/Orwell distinction) congratulates them on their forceful use of tautology:This is rather extraordinary. Orwell did indeed meet Garrett in Liverpool in 1936, and was highly impressed to find that he knew him already through his pseudonymous writing—under the name Matt Lowe—for John Middleton Murry’s Adelphi. As he told his diary:Thus the evidence that supposedly shames Orwell by contrast is in fact supplied by—none other than Orwell himself! This is only slightly better than the other habit of his foes, which is to attack him for things he quotes other people as saying, as if he had instead said them himself. (The idea that a writer must be able to ‘afford’ to write is somewhat different and, as an idea, is somewhat—to use a vogue term of the New Left—‘problematic’. If it were only the bourgeois who were able to write, much work would never have been penned and, incidentally, Orwell would never have met Garrett in the first place.)

Train leaders in behaviors that promote trust and respect. Bust existing silos and focus on what’s best for the project.

A cupcake temple?' Her chest still tight with anxiety, Bertie forced herself to imagine it: bricks of pound cake mortared with buttercream and chocolate ganache, torches like striped birthday candles set into the walls, pilgrims upon the Path of Delectable Righteousness delivering daily tributes of almond paste and raspberry filling. . . .

Happiness is in all of us and it comes from progress. The root cause of a multiplier effect or a destroyer effect lies inside of us. The multiplication of the happiness in us on a daily basis makes us unique and powerful and gives us the reason for our existence." --Bimal Shah.

An advice is truly valuable when people not just give it their ears but also their obedience.

Be sure of this: when you make time for the Holy Spirit, He will make time to visit you.

Don't wanna ever take your shoes off in coconut land. Never know when you're gonna have to run.

When what one does, reps, or 'spits', repetitively, is foul or beastly - one summons spiritual undertakers to dine on fleshly parasites. In various forms, nature's law purges all that becomes wasteful. Change your game, or the game will change you.

All these many-coloured feelings fell... like light on a black surface, producing no change, meeting no return.

The collective consciousness of the people we associate with on a daily basis has an influence on our consciousness. Which holds us back from our true potential. Even if we believe that we are fully aware of our thoughts, feelings and emotions. The bigger picture will only present itself as we continue to grow.

One minute you're closer to someone than anyone in the whole world, next minute they need only to say the words 'time apart', 'serious talk' or 'maybe you...' and you're never going to see them again and will have to spend the next six months having imaginary conversations in which they beg to come back, and bursting into tears at the sight of their toothbrush.

No matter what you’re facing, embrace life in trust and contentment based on your faith in Jesus.

Just let the words fly from your lips and your pen. Give them rhythm and depth and height and silliness. Give them filth and form and noble stupidity. Words are free and all words, light and frothy, firm and sculpted as they may be, bear the history of their passage from lip to lip over thousands of years. How they feel to us now tells us whole stories of our ancestors.

What we essentially want is to draw something unknown to us in all its shadowiness, not something we know in all its illumination.

I have awaited a storm that should deliver me, pluck me away and now it has come softly, even without my knowledge. But it is here. While I was despairing, thinking everything lost, it was already quietly growing. I had thought that division was always an end. Now I know that growth also is division. And growth means relinquishing. And growth has no end.

The shortest and the hardest journey to make is the inner one.

In sitting meditation, we train in mindfulness and unconditional friendliness: in being steadfast with our bodies, our emotions, our thoughts.

The new contract between writers and readers is one I'm prepared to sign up to. I've met some fascinating people at events and online. Down with the isolation of writers I say! And long live Twitter.