When you have to pretend to be someone, anyone other than yourself. Then you need to make over every part of you. Because just pretending to be someone, anyone other than yourself, you always will be just you. Make over your attitude, your ways, values and morals. Then you will be free to be just you.
la felicidad siempre tiene un objeto, somo felices por algo,es un sentimiento cuya existencia depende del exterior. La alegría, en cambio, no tiene objeto. Te posee sin ningún motivo aparente, en su esencia se parece al sol: arde gracias a la combustión de su propio corazón.
Gently Agatha touched her face in the mirror, glowing from inside. A face no one recognized because it was so happy.There could be no turning back now. The bread crumbs on the dark trail were gone. Instead, she had the truth to guide her. A truth greater than any magic.I've been beautiful all along.
It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be, with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other’s hands in the dark. No chains or promises, just a simple sign of hopethat things will go on and get betterand that things and people and views are still out there, yet to be found.
She was a keen observer, a precise user of language, sharp-tongued and funny. She could stir your emotions. Yes, really, that's what she was so good at - stirring people's emotions, moving you. And she knew she had this power...I only realized later. At the time, I had no idea what she was doing to me.
and give me insults, give meeconomic discrimination, give methe darkened parking lot of a windowless queer bar, give me fleets of bigots and books bannedin libraries across america, feed the worldwith lies about my life and plop a secondhelping of oppression on my plateand thank you for not making me straight.
He reached up t0 grab one and came down with several, and they kept coming, washing over him, floating all around him. Never have tampon strings seemed so beautiful as they rolled up and down with the wind, landing on the ground and then twirling and floating up again, falling and rising and falling and rising.
At a time when she was engaged to Stilton Cheesewright, I remember recording in the archives that she was tall and willowy with a terrific profile and luxuriant platinum blond-hair, the sort of girl who might, as far as looks were concerned, have been the star unit of the harem of one of the better-class sultans.
Liam, soon-to-be-fucking-dead, Callahan was walking down the stairs—my fucking stairs—with his sex hair high and his green eyes sharper than razor blades. He was beautiful, and I almost regretted the fact that I would have to put a bullet in his head and then smash it through a fucking wall.-Melody G.
Insomniacs know that there is something about the night. A darkness, an energy, a mystery that shrouds things. It hides things at the same time as it illuminates them. It is this thing that allows us to examine our thoughts in a way that we can't during the day. It is this thing that brings truth and clarity.
True beauty express itself automatically. It's not only visible in the material, but around one's being, and within their aura. I once met a female, who was like that of a jeweled flower. Her celestial atmosphere and genuine conception could not separate from the true expression of the definition of beauty.
Not only does my world revolve around her, but she is my world. She's not just my reason for breathing, she's air itself. She's the meaning behind every one of my thoughts, every thrum of my pulse, every whisper of my conscience. She's my entire everything. It's as simple and as complex as that.
She was a vision in a white gown her dark hair forming a hazy halo around her rosy heart-shaped face. Her long lashes fluttered to touch her cheeks and then her eyes opened fully in his direction. Her small round mouth flexed in an immediate and knowing smile. That's the girl I'm going to marry Henry thought.
So, I guess that's what happens, when you fall in love with that perfect someone you just never want to fall out, because they treat you right, you know, like they give you kisses and they remind you of how beautiful you are, and how sweet you make them feel, and they do all kinds of things just to see you smile.
Eleanore," he whispered again, tilting his head to mine, his lips skimming past my cheek, his breath in my ear. "I'd wait forever for you, you know. If it mattered. If you'd care.""I do care," I whispered back, miserable.His fingers tightened, warm and firm. "No, you don't. Not the way I mean. Not yet.
