He had always prided himself on his ability to bargain, to bluff, to contain his ever-aching heart within the folds of his robes where no one could see his pain and his shame. Unconsciously, he reached up and fisted the little black pearl in his fing...
The wolf changes only his coat -- not his character.
A glutton is one who digs his grave with his teeth.
Everyone blames his memory, but never his judgement.
Glutton: one who digs his grave with his teeth.
He who is master of his thirst is master of his health.
The character of a man lies not in his body but in his soul.
Reluctantly, he put his hand up to the cold glass. That odd tingling sensation raced through his body again. His ears began to hum and his head felt strange and heavy. Beneath his touch, the glass seemed to soften and his fingers made small indention...
Prior to her reading of the poem, light tears washed over him. He seemed to be leaking out moments that were, as far as he could tell, stored in physical parts of his body – in his shoulders, his back, his stomach. His body remembered things that h...
And he isn't crying for her, not for his grandma, he's crying for himself: that he: too, is going to die one day. And before that his friends wil die, and the friends of his friends, and, as time passes, the children of his friends, and, if his fate ...
A poet or philosopher should have no fault to find with his age if it only permits him to do his work undisturbed in his own corner; nor with his fate if the corner granted him allows of his following his vocation without having to think about other ...
We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread before us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude,...
Starting the day—Another chance to be new again. How many of us still wish for that? To be your own sunrise. To awaken like a prayer—both solemn and joyful at still being alive . . .
Starting the day - Another chance to be new again. How many of us still wish for that? To be your own sunrise. To awaken like a prayer - both solemn and joyful at still being alive.
Remember, it’s still a mystery to be an adult. If you knew it all before eighteen, you’d have nothing to look forward to. Besides, to be wise and eighteen is as possible as catching lightning in a bottle…
Starting the Day— Another chance to be new again. How many of us still wish for that? To be your own sunrise. To awaken like a prayer -both solemn and joyful at still being alive.
I travel to be replenished with beauty, for travel makes the beauty of this world seem like a Christmas that never ends. I travel for the jolting, angelic act of seeking strangeness and newness and profoundness . . .
Love your kids and just be there for them. You don’t have to eyeball their every moment or to orchestrate all their comings and goings. They know this. They know that’s too much.
Teach them what you love to do in life. It really doesn't matter what it is. It never does. Just show them how important a passion is . . .
Wake up. Be thankful. For whatever happens on this day, you are endlessly given the chance to start again-to be alive. And all of us should wish for that.
Reading teaches us the nuances of humanity. To find the beauty of what is moral and ethical in your own actions and discover the strange subtlety of what it is to question why you should exist.
