#life

…   not my own opinion, but my wife’s: Yesterday, when weary with writing, I was called to supper, and a salad I had asked for was set before me. ‘It seems then,’ I said, ‘if pewter dishes, leaves of lettuce, grains of salt, drops of water, vinegar, oil and slices of eggs had been flying about in the air for all eternity, it might at last happen by chance that there would come a salad.’ ‘Yes,’ responded my lovely, ‘but not so nice as this one of mine. ↗

— Johannes Kepler

#creation #eternity #life #love

Come on, don't you ever stop and smell the coffee? ↗

— Justina Chen

#jacob #joy-of-life #justina-chen-headley #north-of-beautiful #beauty

You really loved her?' 'I would have given my life.' 'Would you have taken it?' 'No, child,' he said. 'That is not ours to do. ↗

— Mitch Albom

#love #time #love

Rather than being a human, be a humanitarian ↗

— Kowtham Kumar K

#kindness #life #love #philanthropy #love

The human life cycle no less than evolves around the box; from the open-topped box called a bassinet, to the pine box we call a coffin, the box is our past and, just as assuredly, our future. It should not surprise us then that the lowly box plays such a significant role in the first Christmas story. For Christmas began in a humble, hay-filled box of splintered wood. The Magi, wise men who had traveled far to see the infant king, laid treasure-filled boxes at the feet of that holy child. And in the end, when He had ransomed our sins with His blood, the Lord of Christmas was laid down in a box of stone. How fitting that each Christmas season brightly wrapped boxes skirt the pine boughs of Christmas trees around the world. ↗

— Richard Paul Evans

#christmas #jesus #life

Life is short. Art long. Opportunity is fleeting. Expierience treacherous. Judgement difficult. ↗

— Geoffrey Chaucer

#art

Fear doesn't go away. The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day. ↗

— Steven Pressfield

#art

I was starting to see that what looks like garbage from one angle might be art from another. Maybe it did take a crisis to get to know yourself; maybe you needed to get whacked hard by life before you understood what you wanted out of it. ↗

— Jodi Picoult

#crisis #garbage #life #truth #understanding

I met Anne in the autumn... Autumn, that wild season when rural men rack orchard trees with sticks and weep with the desire to kiss faraway Demeter’s supple breasts—to set lips to her travel-swollen eyes. They seek goddesses, but I desired only Anne. ↗

— Roman Payne

#demeter #goddesses #life #mortals #payne

There are many roles that people play and many images that they project. There is, for example, the "nice" man who is always smiling and agreeable. "Such a nice man," people say. "He never gets angry." The facade always covers its opposite expression. Inside, such a person is full of rage that he dares not acknowledge or show. Some men put up a tough exterior to hide a very sensitive, childlike quality. Even failure can be a role. Many masochistic characters engage in the game of failure to cover an inner feeling of superiority. An outward show of superiority could bring down on them the jealous wrath of the father and the threat of castration. As long as they act like failures they can retain some sexuality, since they are not a threat to her father. ↗

— Alexander Lowen

#childhood #fear #guilt #parenthood #repression