After the first establishment of identity there comes the imperative need to lose this new-found sense of separateness and to belong to something larger and more powerful than the weak, lonely self. The sense of moral isolation is intolerable to us.
I became a marine mom with the signing of a paper, but it would take a phone call, late one night, for me to fully absorb the impact this new title would have on my life.
Do you know what I want to do? If you guessed have sex, you win a brand new baby!
Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny....To work out our identity in God.
To follow the heart, you lose your mind.. To follow your mind, the heart loses .. Lovingly, let go ..to transcend to a new understanding..
He wanted to heave the glasses against the wall. Break them, break everything he could reach. Beat it, rend it. He stared out the window, imagined the city in flames, consumed to ashes. And still it wasn't enough.
The security officer smiled and said, ‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ to me before I gave him ID.” “It’s a sick world, Eve.” He resisted taking her hand for another squeeze. “A sick, sad world.
An old dream with a shiny new veneer. It's fascinating, you know, how an obsolete madness is sometimes adopted and stylized in an attempt to ghoulishly preserve it. These are the days of second-hand fantasies and antiquated hysteria. ("The Chymist")
Life and our love for others is a balancing act, I understand then; a dance between our instinct to be safe and hold fast, and our drive to flee, to run - from danger, toward new places to feed ourselves.
And I'm sure than in Poland, or somewhere, it is considered cool to drive a Porsche and wear necklaces and black silk, but at least back in Brooklyn if you did those things you were either a drug dealer or from New Jersey.
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
My lungs filled deep with the sweet scent that came of his skin. it was like there had never been any hole in my chest. i was perfect- not healed but as if there never had been a wound in the first place.
Only you could be more important than what I wanted...what I needed. What I want and what I need is to be with you, and I know I'll never be strong enough to leave again.
It’s great to spend time at a networking event with someone you know and like. But that’s not what you’re there for. Your goal is to expand your network by meeting new people.
That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.
Here they have no time for the fine graces of poetry, unless it freely grows in deep compulsion, like water in the well, woven into the texture of the soil in a strong pattern.
He nuzzled my neck, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You smell so good.” “Oh, yeah,” I said, smirking. “I call this new perfume ‘Le Jungle grime et tropical BO.’ ” “Dirt and sweat. Very sexy.
And it struck me that maybe True magazine had been wrong. Maybe there are no New Men. Maybe there are only the living and the dead, and all those who are living deserve each other and are equal to each other.
…depressive realism. Depression is not the near death experience described by so many, [Kayla Dunn] suggests, but a rebirth in which the new psyche has removed self-delusion. Compared with so-called healthy individuals, depressives are more realist...
Your leftover meatloaf makes me horny. Let us make love like the first squirt from a new bottle of ketchup.
He was invaded by an unreasoning calm, which he interpreted as an omen that nothing new was going to happen, that everything he had done in his life had been in vain, that he could not go on: it was the end.
