#hone

Your expectations opens or closes the doors of your supply, If you expect grand things, and work honestly for them, they will come to you, your supply will correspond with your expectation. ↗

— Orison Swett Marden

#come #correspond #doors #expect #expectation

What about the hero of The House on the Strand? What did it mean when he dropped the telephone at the end of the book? I don't really know, but I rather think he was going to be paralysed for life. Don't you? ↗

— Daphne du Maurier

#book #did #dropped #end #going

No one can be a great thinker who does not recognize that as a thinker it is his first duty to follow his intellect to whatever conclusions it may lead. ↗

— John Stuart Mill

#honesty #intellect #intellect

Microphones are just like people, if you shout at them, they get scared. ↗

— Paul McCartney

#just #like #microphones #people #scared

Life is mysterious as well as vulgar. ↗

— Roberto Bolaño

#efimero #ephemeral #life #llamadas-telefonicas #meaning

I’d rather have a cup of coffee and a cigarette than live in all that honesty. ↗

— Benjamin Alire Sáenz

#life #life

Voicemail #1: “Hi, Isabel Culpeper. I am lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling. I am mostly naked. I am thinking of … your mother. Call me.” Voicemail #2: The first minute and thirty seconds of “I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You” by the Bee Gees. Voicemail #3: “I’m bored. I need to be entertained. Sam is moping. I may kill him with his own guitar. It would give me something to do and also make him say something. Two birds with one stone! I find all these old expressions unnecessarily violent. Like, ring around the rosy. That’s about the plague, did you know? Of course you did. The plague is, like, your older cousin. Hey, does Sam talk to you? He says jack shit to me. God, I’m bored. Call me.” Voicemail #4: “Hotel California” by the Eagles, in its entirety, with every instance of the word California replaced with Minnesota. Voicemail #5: “Hi, this is Cole St. Clair. Want to know two true things? One, you’re never picking up this phone. Two, I’m never going to stop leaving long messages. It’s like therapy. Gotta talk to someone. Hey, you know what I figured out today? Victor’s dead. I figured it out yesterday, too. Every day I figure it out again. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I feel like there’s no one I can —” Voicemail #6: “So, yeah, I’m sorry. That last message went a little pear-shaped. You like that expression? Sam said it the other day. Hey, try this theory on for size: I think he’s a dead British housewife reincarnated into a Beatle’s body. You know, I used to know this band that put on fake British accents for their shows. Boy, did they suck, aside from being assholes. I can’t remember their name now. I’m either getting senile or I’ve done enough to my brain that stuff’s falling out. Not so fair of me to make this one-sided, is it? I’m always talking about myself in these things. So, how are you, Isabel Rosemary Culpeper? Smile lately? Hot Toddies. That was the name of the band. The Hot Toddies.” Voicemail #20: “I wish you’d answer. ↗

— Maggie Stiefvater

#cole-and-isabel #cole-st-clair #in-love #isabel #isabel-culpeper

Masks beneath masks until suddenly the bare bloodless skull. ↗

— Salman Rushdie

#honesty #mask #people #satan

Whenever you are about to find fault with someone, ask yourself the following question: What fault of mine most nearly resembles the one I am about to criticize? ↗

— Marcus Aurelius

#honesty #self-awareness #meditation

From my subjective position, there was no honeymoon. ↗

— John Hickenlooper

#position #subjective