People fail each other all the time, Mo, and they forgive each other, and start again. It's a question of knowing the other person's limitations. Knowing what's fair to expect of them. Knowing what's fair for them to expect of you.
I speak, I speak, and truth at that. Writers are a curious breed: brooding, fickle, alternately loving and hating their work—and each other. You’re my friend? Don’t pick up that pen!
You are one woman in an endless line of women who were chosen to love more passionately than others, be committed to justice more fervently than others, and seek our Maker’s higher expressions more reflectively than others.
And then they want the person to change. If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.
Maybe some folks are alcoholics and others are just voluntary drunks. Maybe some folks drink due to body chemistry and others due to their lazy characters. Maybe some have drinking problems, while others have problems enough to drink.
Today we have made a fetish of choice; but a chosen death is forbidden. Perhaps what distinguishes humans from other animals is that humans have learnt to cling more abjectly to life.
Society never advances. It recedes as fast on one side as it gains on the other. It undergoes continual changes; it is barbarous, it is civilized, it is christianized, it is rich, it is scientific; but this change is not amelioration. For every thing...
Marius and Cosette were in the dark in regard to each other. They did not speak, they did not bow, they were not acquainted; they saw each other; and, like the stars in the sky separated by millions of leagues, they lived by gazing upon each other.
Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart.
You see, doubt is a magnificently difficult pest of which to try and rid oneself and is worse than any other kind of infestation. It can creep in quietly and through the tiniest of cracks and once inside, it is almost impossible to ever completely re...
It's unclear who moves first. We're in each other's arms, lips locked, melded, hotly fused. Our hands drag over each other, reacquainting, remembering, almost as if we're both verifying the other one is real flesh and blood.
Through our reading we can travel to other times and other places, into other peoples minds and hearts and souls: it is a transcendent experience.
The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places.
Doing things for others is something that money cannot buy it is a priceless act which gives an abundance of worthy feelings for both involved, to empower others and to know that others care is an key part of listening, the stoppage of wars, the foun...
What Rose brings to the Doctor’s life is completion. It’s completing a circle – he’s male, he’s alien, he’s a traveler. Between the two of them together they complement each other and discover each other. And are in love with each other �...
Other people can’t cause us to be impatient unless we let them do so. In other words, others don’t make us impatient. We make ourselves impatient, through our expectations and demands, fixated attachments and stuckness.
And you realize that there’s no such thing as an individual, we’re just all a collection of each other’s influence on each other. Everyone says things to each other, the television, your parents, your friends, that’s all we are, is a collecti...
Spirituality, for someone like me who doesn’t believe in God, in the existence of soul, in something after-death, is the capacity to love and to understand others – humans, and animals – is the capacity to not do to others what you don’t want...
Both times I was in India, I could not get people to listen to each other. I had to literally tell people to listen to each other and tell them that they can't get creative and find alternate solutions if they don't listen to each other. There's a lo...
It's much more interesting for me to think that taking a chunk of experience and mushing it up together with other things that are inventible, remembered from some other time or stolen from other people's stories... and see if I can make it into some...
I didn't really hear any other music other than what my dad was working on until I was 12. My recollection of hearing other music was that I liked some things that I heard but I always thought, 'Where's the rest of it?' It didn't have the same amount...
