One reason we rush so quickly to the vulgar satisfactions of judgment, and love to revel in our righteous outrage, is that it spares us from the impotent pain of empathy, and the harder, messier work of understanding.
Better to be blinded by love than hate; one forgives and the other refuses.
Like the discovery of most things - love and religion especially - she maintained the child's arrogant wonder than no one had understood it before her and, even if they had, they could not embrace it as passionately as she.
I loved music, and in my ninth year at MIT, I decided to buy a hi-fi set. I figured that all I needed to do was look at the specifications. So I bought what looked like the best one, turned it on, and turned it off in five minutes, the sound was so p...
Part of me loves to control and to exert power, but it's not the best part of me at all. What I am slowly learning is that allowing others to have power too makes us a better organisation - many brains are simply better than one.
I love green juices - the ones that include lots of actual greens and don't include too much apple. Because those are just meant to be yummy, and we all know things that are too yummy aren't the best for us, unfortunately.
My husband is actually the nicest guy in the world. He's my sweetheart and best friend, and one of the things I love best about him is that no matter how terrible I look - and believe me, it can get bad - he makes me feel pretty.
I have this necklace I always wear. I collect pendants from people I love; my best friends and members of my family have all given me one, and I put them on this chain so no matter where I am they're always with me.
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
I am reminded of yet one more reason why I avoid children, why I have remained intentionally childless. Children make ruthless biographers and terrifying judges.
Sometimes Robert believed one thing and sometimes the other, and he wondered if that was true of all those who loved too much and in vain.
I've loved 'Vanity Fair' since I was 16 years old. You know, we're all colonial hangovers in India, steeped in English literature. It is one of these novels that I read under the covers at my convent boarding school in Simla.
Love for one another is built on the actions we take. Words that are said, are used for short comfort; but little do we know lies can be hidden in the riddle. Tread carefully through the puddle of roses for there, thorns await.
The thing about losing any loved one, I think, particularly in a long disease, is that you know that other people have gone through it and are going through it, but I think for every person it feels unique.
All lives have triumphs and tragedies, laughter and tears, and mine has been no different. What really matters is whether, after all of that, you remain strong and a comfort to your loved ones. I have tried to meet that test.
I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.
My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a bargain better driven.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
It is the image of physical brawn, sheer force, and commanding volume we so often associate with might. But I have found the might of an army exists in the faith of a child and in quiet, earnest prayers as well as in the heart of one who loves.
Perfection is something we should all strive for. It's a duty and a joy to perfect one's nature... The most difficult thing is love. A loveless, driving person that just competes in the rat race is far from perfection in my book.
With no words strucking in my mind, with no goals... standing alone in a window watching a lone moon shining in my face. A drop falling from my eyes for no reasons, feels like missing someone, not her but for one I loved.
