The mind wants to forget because it weighs so much on the heart and soul. I am tired of crying and feeling so helpless. I want to breathe again -just for a little while.
No such thing, the queen said, as too many sequins.
Being in grief, it turns out, is not unlike being in love. In both states, the imagination's entirely occupied with one person. The beloved dwells at the heart of the world, and becomes a Rome: the roads of feeling all lead to him, all proceed from him. Everything that touches us seems to relate back to that center: there is no other emotional life, no place outside the universe of feeling centered on its pivotal figure.
Even sad stories are company. And perhaps that's why you might read such a chronicle, to look into a companionable darkness that isn't yours.
Love, I think, is a gateway to the world, not an escape from it.
We long to connect; we fear that if we do, our freedom and individuality will disappear.
Here and gone. That’s what it is to be human, I think—to be both someone and no one at once, to hold a particular identity in the world (our names, our place of origins, our family and affectional ties) and to feel that solid set of ties also capable of dissolution, slipping away, as we become moments of attention.
Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, That few, but such as cannot write, translate.
We know that by simply changing our allocation between stocks and bonds, we can lessen the amount of volatility in our portfolio until we reach our comfortable sleep level.
Etta James is my all-time favorite singer. I've said it in every interview, in every story, in every on- and off-camera question. That music was always such a huge escape for me, even from a young age.
He aint heavy, he's my brother.