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14ddaa9
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"Have you got any soul?" a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues."
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character
sadness
music
personal
soul
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Nick Hornby |
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5b94b81
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Hindi ako naniniwalang kailangan ng tao mangarap dahil gusto n'ya ng pera, o gusto n'yang sumikat, o gusto n'ya ng impluwensya. Side effects na lang ang mga 'to, sa tingin ko. Nangangarap ang tao dahil binigyan s'ya ng Diyos ng kakayanang mangarap at tumupad nito. Tungkulin n'yang pagbutihin ang pagkatao n'ya at mag-ambag ng tulong sa mundo. At wala na s'yang iba pang magagawang mas malaking kasalanan sa sarili bukod sa talikuran ang tungkuling yon...
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bob-ong
inspirational
personal
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Bob Ong |
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e50b4c0
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I never could bear the idea of anyone's expecting something from me. It always made me want to do just the opposite.
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personality
life
personal
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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09f3490
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But when they made love he was offended by her eyes. They behaved as though they belonged to someone else. Someone watching. Looking out of the window at the sea. At a boat in the river. Or a passerby in the mist in a hat. He was exasperated because he didn't know what that look . He put it somewhere between indifference and despair. He didn't know that in some places, like the country that Rahel came from, various kinds of despair competed for primacy. And that despair could never be desperate enough. That something happened when personal turmoil dropped by at the wayside shrine of the vast, violent, circling, driving, ridiculous, insane, unfeasible, public turmoil of a nation. That Big God howled like a hot wind, and demanded obeisance. Then Small God (cozy and contained, private and limited) came away cauterized, laughing numbly at his own temerity. Inured by the confirmation of his own inconsequence, he became resilient and truly indifferent. Nothing mattered much. Nothing much mattered. And the less it mattered, the less it mattered. It was never important enough. Because Worse Things had happened. In the country that she came from, poised forever between the terror of war and the horror of peace, Worse Things kept happening. So Small God laughed a hollow laugh, and skipped away cheerfully. Like a rich boy in shorts. He whistled, kicked stones. The source of his brittle elation was the relative smallness of his misfortune. He climbed into people's eyes and became an exasperating expression.
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war
exasperation
smallness
public
personal
indifference
nationality
peace
desperation
despair
eyes
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Arundhati Roy |
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08f6747
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Small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things.
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myth
personal
memory
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Neil Gaiman |
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a2ae3b4
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I exist only in the soles of my feet and in the tired muscles of my thighs. We have been walking for hours it seems. But where? I cannot remember.
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the-waves
narrator
personal
virginia-woolf
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Virginia Woolf |
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6bda802
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It might be a little silly for someone getting to be my age to put this into words, but I just want to make sure I get the facts down clearly : I'm the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point on it, I'm the type of person who doesn't find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two everyday running alone, not speaking to anyone as well as four of five hours at my desk, to be neither difficult or boring.
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personality
life
personal
lifestyle
personalities
life-philosophy
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Haruki Murakami |
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556098c
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In fact , the life is generous with who lives his personal legend.
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the-alchemist
personal
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Paulo Coelho |
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0942b3b
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"I'm sorry I was short with him--but I don't like a man to approach me telling me it for my sake. "Maybe it was," said Wylie "It's poor technique." "I'd all for it," said Wylie. "I'm vain as a woman. If anybody pretends to be interested in me, I'll ask for more. I like advice." Stahr shook his head distastefully. Wylie kept on ribbing him--he was one of those to whom this privilege was permitted. "You fall for some kinds of flattery," he said. "this 'little Napoleon stuff.'" "It makes me sick," said Stahr, "but it's not as bad as some man trying to help you." "If you don't like advice, why do you pay me?" "That's a question of merchandise," said Stahr. "I'm a merchant. I want to buy what's in your mind." "You're no merchant," said Wylie. "I knew a lot of them when I was a publicity man, and I agree with Charles Francis Adams." "What did he say?" "He knew them all--Gould, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Astor--and he said there wasn't one he'd care to meet again in the hereafter. Well--they haven't improved since then, and that's why I say you're no merchant." "Adams was probably a sourbelly," said Stahr. "He wanted to be head man himself, but he didn't have the judgement or else the character." "He had brains," said Wylie rather tartly. "It takes more than brains. You writers and artists poop out and get all mixed up, and somebody has to come in and straighten you out." He shrugged his shoulders. "You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them--always thinking people are so important-especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it--on the inside."
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the-last-tycoon
incredulity
personal
restraint
normalcy
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F. Scott Fitzgerald |
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2145e36
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I don't think most people would like my personality. There might be a few -- very few, I would imagine- who are impressed by it, but rarely would anyone like it.
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personality
personal
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Haruki Murakami |
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1eaec7e
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That is morality,I make myself imagine that it is personal.
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personal
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Louis de Bernières |
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64ab1ec
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"Squashed behind The Cloud of Unknowing we discovered a pocket-size spiral notebook with a day-by-day account of the time Justin had stayed with her and her husband after Tommy's death. The writing was legible though it required effort (this was before she took her calligraphy course), but Justin was ecstatic and asked if he could have the little notebook. "This is my history," he said. Later, after he had deciphered every last word: "Boy, was I loved."
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writing
personal
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Gail Godwin |