Tap into ‘The Force’ and soon, at any given time that you need that extra shot of high octane confidence; you will soon be like a Jedi Master at this technique.
This inner Being is all powerful, intelligent, indestructible and a storehouse of knowledge and wisdom. This inner core is truly who and what you are and is perpetually trying to connect with your outward self.
…It was like he waved his magic wang, and I totally forgot how I’m not a gullible teenager anymore.
You. Aren’t you one of those Morgan boys? You must be the bad one.
Leaving the feasibility of testicular transplants alone for the moment, she said, “It was mostly my mistake.
If life was a dream, then dying must be the moment when you woke up. It was so simple it must be true. You died, the dream was over, you woke up. That's what people meant when they talked about going to heaven. It was like waking up.
The young open the paper to forget about life by reading the funny strips. The old do it to forget about death by reading other people's obits. My advice: don't open the paper and go on with your life.
Living is like being chained at the bottom of a shallow pond with my eyes open and no air. I can see distorted images of happiness and light, even hear muffled laughter, but everything is out of my reach as I lie in suffocating agony. If death is the...
You can`t change destinies already written, that only happens in fairy tales.
And sometimes we die to prove that we lived.
Self-identity is about content not the container that carry the identity,contextual value and not a solo island. It is about conception and not just a birth process.
At this point we can finally see what's really at stake in our peculiar habit of defining ourselves simultaneously as master and slave, reduplicating the most brutal aspects of the ancient household in our very concept of ourselves, as masters of our...
I'm not a princess but Ryan is a knight, he just belongs to someone else.
Nothing makes you think you might need years of therapy like saying the word breasts in front of your mother.
He pries me from his chest and drops his hand from the back of my head, tracing my ear, along my jawline. He snatches his fingers a moment before they press into my lip.
Food shouldn't be half-bad. It should be all good.
We weren't really friends yet, just knowers of each other's secret stuff.
I need you." "I'm here." And we sit in silence.
However much grief I carried, I liked the way my life was tending, these bright new directions. It's only human, to mourn and to reach toward forwardness at once.
Those aren't girls. They're vultures.
He feels safer just knowing that even if he's away there is a home waiting for him to return.
