The voice so filled with nostalgia that you could almost see the memories floating through the blue smoke, memories not only of music and joy and youth, but perhaps, of dreams. They listened to the music, each hearing it in his own way, feeling relax...
Another flash of recognition sped through her mind. It’s him, her thoughts whispered through the fog of arousal. And she wanted to know who he was. What else he could do for her. What he’d feel like inside her. What he would unleash within her.
Love wasn't a happening one decided on---to indulge or not, to partake or not. To feel or not. When it came, when it struck, the only decision left to make was how to respond---whether you embraced it, took it in, and made it a part of you, or whethe...
It is our determination to overcome fear and discouragement that constitutes the only effective antidote to the sense of powerlessness over unwanted feelings.
What's really weird is my mom's clothes smell like her. I mean, her perfume, and so all day it's like m mom has been walking right beside me. Which, you have to admit, a pretty freaky feeling.
While he was conscious of improving at every stroke, he did not feel that the other was asserting any superiority over him; and so, though more humble than at the most disastrous period of his downward voyage, he was getting into a better temper ever...
The books we need are of the kind that act upon us like a misfortune,that makes us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide,lost in a forest remote from all human habita...
The questions push me further into the space in between, the place where my madness lays waiting for me. I struggle with each question, determined to extract some sort of answer, an explanation for everything that has happened so far. But no answers ...
If somebody were to ask me what it means to me to be American, I'd respond, "It's like eating scrambled eggplant with a dozen 1969 moons sunny side up at noon." If they asked me to clarify, I'd respond, "It feels like I'm just one of 300 million empt...
I live in a tourist town, and I hang out in souvenir shops because it feels like home. Visitors want to buy everything from postcards to my love, and I love that. However, only the postcards are for sale—and not my love. No, my love is for rent.
Whatever happens to you belongs to you. Make it yours. Feed it to yourself even if it feels impossible to swallow. Let it nurture you, because it will.
Love is saying yes when you really feel like telling them no. That’s why when she asked if I’d marry her, I replied, “If you pick the place, I’ll pick the date.” She wants Paris, and I want March 5th 2082.
When I say ‘practice’ I don’t mean repeating an act until you get it right. In this use, it means to instill regular discipline to accomplish a specific task, ritual without which we feel incomplete, or that our experience of each day is less.
But hatred and rage solve nothing. Like a might fire, they quickly consume whatever is fed them.Yet it can't last. Soon enough, they devour all around them and burn out, leaving nothing but a hollowed shell no longer capable of feeling anything at al...
Comparing how you feel on the inside (bad) to the way someone else looks on the outside (great) is a losing proposition. It's an impossible standard.
It's not that I feel alone because I have no friends because I have lots of friends. I know that I have people who can hold me and reassure me and talk to ne and care for me and think of me but they can't be inside my head with me all the time - for ...
Pretend those around you are deaf to your words. Let your actions speak and communicate your feelings and intentions. This way of living ensures the potency of your message is delivered and serves as a gauge against our verbal nonsense.
I keep hearing about a spiritual awakening, but I feel what we need instead, is a human one. It would be wonderful and empowering to become free from the disillusionment and nonsense being sold to us from gurus for centuries.
Eyes blinded by the fog of things cannot see truth. Ears deafened by the din of things cannot hear truth. Brains bewildered by the whirl of things cannot think truth. Hearts deadened by the weight of things cannot feel truth. Throats choked by the du...
It's strange. How hollow i feel. Like there might be echoes inside of me. Like I'm one of those chocolate rabbits they used to sell around Easter, the ones that were nothing more than a sweet shell encapsulating a world of nothing. I'm like that. I e...
Kami," he said, "you're crying." "No, I am not," Kami lied. "I got something in my eye." "You got something in your eye." "Yes. Possibly a speck of dust," Kami said, and broke down. "All right, possibly my feelings.
