But dogmatism--or the inclination 'to identify the goal of our thinking with the point at which we have become tired of thinking'--is so natural to man that it is not likely to be a preserve of the past. [Citing "Ame," Dictionnaire philosophique, ed....
I go to networking events because what else am I going to do? I’ve already finished my daily planning for how to take over the world.
Few living do." "Then, have I...I mean, am I-" "Oh, no, child! You are still very much alive! Though I may say, not as Alive as you might be if you had died.
Why do you do it, Amber? Why do you go after people like you do? It’s not who you are.” “That’s the point,” Amber said. “I’m not allowed to be who I really am.
His eyes burned mine. “You just fight for what you want Katherine. The question is, how much do you want me?” Am I worth the fight? The question was implied and his eyes were begging me for assurance.
What think'st thou then of mee, and this my State, Seem I to thee sufficiently possest Of happiness, or not? who am alone From all Eternitie, for none I know Second to mee or like, equal much less.
Last night at Bingo, Sylvia won the last prize. 'What am I going to do with a mermaid?" "Learn to swim in the murkiest water, reinvent yourself," the mermaid said #149
What I want more than a car that goes from Point A to Point B, is a car that stops. I make it a point to break for love. My horn is broke—and so am I, but I get paid Friday.
I'm sorry, Cullen. I really am. I know this sucks. But you're better off anyway. And you'll be fine. You needed me. Now someone else needs me.
There are two questions a man must ask himself: The first is 'Where am I going?' and the second is 'Who will go with me?' If you ever get these questions in the wrong order you are in trouble.
What am I to do? What is my destiny? I have no idea, not a clue Feeling lost and empty. What is my dream? What is my future? I beg thee to listen to me, I beg thee to answer.
My mission was always intended to be slightly outside the public eye, because that makes me appear more interesting than I really am. A lot of people don't realise that merely by staying away, you can create a myth.
And before I'd got to the end of the first paragraph, I'd come up slap bang against a fundamental problem that still troubles me today whenever I begin a story, and it's this: where am I telling it from?
Oh, who am I trying to kid? It's a madhouse. The minute those cameras go off, things just explode, everyone is just at each other in one way or another, in closets or cat fights here and there. It's nuts. You know, I can't be a part of it.
Thy's bleeding heart confides in the With one's thoughts and troubles Let the kiss thy's lips To ease thou's pain Thy am thou's comfort Lie thou's head on mine pillow Of soft consolation And let the drown Thou's sorrow Away
How lucky am I? Quite often I speak at book festivals, and people ask me how I got published. There's people who have been working on a book for as long as ten years, and I feel like such a cow.
The brain is behind the really big questions we have. Who am I, what is my identity? What is that based on? If memories are encoded in connectomes, your personality might be in your connectome. If that's the case, that's the basis of your uniqueness ...
Am I living what I believe each and every day? The true measure of any person is living his/her truth. Make sure your measurement is so tall that people have to look up to know who you are.
Am I the only one who can't seem to reconcile the grand canyon of cognitive dissonance I feel when people with much more important jobs than I have manage to score much lengthier times off?
Ten out of ten people die. You start thinking about that and it really makes you start to ask the big questions: Where did I come from? Where am I going when I die? What happens when we step out of here? What's out there?
I've had my fair share of colds, which last longer than they should and can cause wheezing, so I avoid people who are sneezing like the plague and am scrupulous about hygiene and hand-washing.
