What do you want to be then ?" He crooks a finger under my chin,aiming those mysterious slate blue eyes into mine."Unforgettable.
Weather out the storm in the island of tranquility to find inner peace.
I didn't want to remember...yet in remembering, it dawned on me - finally - just how far down God had reached to free me.
I once had a complete life - in love, in envy, in pains. Now, I was living a death. A peaceful, gorgeous, liberating death.
This is how you will remember that you are mine. Every painful touch, every aching hug, will remind you - that you are a slave - to me.
You are walking on thin ice - the ice of what remains of the trust between us - carrying the weight of immeasurable guilt.
I promise to keep you happy, safe, and in love - for as long as my heart wakes; and as much as you soul takes.
Advice!Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are." "That is probably why you make such a bad job of it.- Perrin and Egwene
The young man who stood there was the handsomest mad Rand had ever seen, almost too handsome for masculinity.
You can't give up. You can't ever give up. If you give up you might as well be dead.
The problem with loneliness is that, unlike other forms of human suffering, it teaches us nothing, leads us nowhere, and generally devalues us in our own eyes and the eyes of others.
Sometimes people did this, closed their eyes for a few seconds and imagined it gave them insights into what it was like to be her. Only, at the end, they could still open their eyes and see.
Her gaze met his, her blue eyes filled with confusion and terror – and love. If Julian hadn’t already been in love with her, that would have done it.
For sixteen years, I had seen just emptiness in those eyes. Her eloquent eyes had lost their expressiveness to destiny.
The eyes were large and gray and in a certain light looked soft, gentle, and even innocent. Then the light would change, the innocence would vanish, and the eyes looked like year-old ice.
The eyes were larger and gray and in a certain light looked soft, gentle, and even innocent. Then the light would change, the innocence would vanish, and the eyes looked like year-old ice.
Eyes as black and as shiny as chips of obsidian stared back into his. They were eyes like black holes, letting nothing out, not even information.
Anyone who conceives of writing as an agreeable stroll towards a middle-class life-style will never write anything but crap.
The individual act of obedience is the cornerstone not only of the strength of authoritarian society but also of its weakness.
Not every President is a great speaker. Not every President is a great thinker. But in the modern era, every single President is a master of one thing: eye contact.
The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.
