Ladies: There are some men who will listen to all of your desires simply to use them to control you. #LearnToDiscern Listen to what he does, Watch what he says and avoid the heartbreak.
A joker is a little fool who is different from everyone else. He's not a club, diamond, heart, or spade. He's not an eight or a nine, a king or a jack. He is an outsider. He is placed in the same pack as the other cards, but he doesn't belong there. ...
When he talked his eyes went away from mine and then he forced himself to look straight at me and he began to explain and I knew that he felt very strange with me and that he hated me, and it was funny sitting there and talking like that, knowing he ...
This is how it essentially is for Bunny Junior. He loves his dad. He thinks there is no dad better, cleverer, or more capable, and he stands there beside him with a sense of pride — he's my dad — and he also, of course, stands beside him because ...
If a man say, 'I love God,' and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.
You look at a Pete Rose to be the terrific athlete he is and then he falls on hard times, but when he played the game, I got something from the way he played the game because he hustled every play, and just because he had one mistake in his life, am ...
We are not what we seem. We are more than what we seem. The actor knows that. And because the actor knows that hidden inside himself there's a wizard and a king, he also knows that when he's playing himself in his daily life, he's playing a part, he'...
He felt torn. He wanted her to feel safe with him, but he also wanted her to feel the sort of heady excitement that any young girl should feel when they fall in love. He wanted to give her everything she craved, and he was not quite sure he could do ...
My father, if anything, first and last, was a man of words. He loved stories; he didn't live for stories, exactly, but I think he lived through stories. I think, like many writers, he loved stories about things he had experienced as much as, if not m...
As long as a man has, he must give. And when he has nothing more, he is free. This freedom is far nobler than the former giving, for he no longer gives in accident but in essence, and he no longer gives one gift, but all gifts, and he no longer gives...
Proust writes, he remembers, physically. He depends on his body to give him the information that will bring him to the past. His book is called 'In Search of Lost Time,' and he does it through the senses. He does it through smell. He does it through ...
Max: Hey. [stuttering] Max: He, he, he fell on the cab. He fell, he fell from up there on the motherfucking cab. Shit. I think he's dead. Vincent: Good guess. Max: You killed him? Vincent: No, I shot him. Bullets and the fall killed him.
Tigress: [seeing Po bounce down the palace steps] If he's smart, he won't come back up those steps. Monkey: But, he will. Viper: He's not gonna quit, is he? Mantis: He's not gonna quit bouncing, I'll tell you that.
Rachel Lapp: He's leaving, isn't he? Eli Lapp: Tomorrow morning. He'll need his city clothes. Rachel Lapp: But why? What does he have to go back to? Eli Lapp: He's going back to his world, where he belongs. He knows it, and you know it, too.
When a man finds the woman he really loves, the one he respects and wants to call wife, there is nothing on earth he won't do for her. No mountain he won't hike. No river he won't wade. No door he won't open. She is Eve and there's not a snake crawli...
He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
You know, Castle's the kind of guy that when he meets somebody, that's a connection for him. He remains connected to the people that he meets. That's the kind of guy he is, be they criminals, gangster rappers, mafia guys, art thieves, whoever it is, ...
He whines, he complains, he ducks out of the most obvious responsibility. He is vain, petty and maddening, but he doesn't ever quit.
He doesn't mind if he dies... indeed, he would like to die; but yet he fears to fall. He would welcome a long sleep; but not at the price of falling to it.
He must not merely cling to life, for then he will be a coward, and will not escape. He must not merely wait for death, for then he will be a suicide, and will not escape. He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it.
He will give his life, for anything he feels has more of a right to live than he. Make no mistake, Elias. He's a Reed. It's what he does.