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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #los
Bhikkus, all is burning. And what is the all that is burning? The eye is burning, visible forms are burning, eye-consciousness is burning, eye-contact is burning; also whatever is felt as pleasant or painful or neither-painful-nor-pleasant that arises with eye-contact as its condition, that too is burning. Burning with what? Burning with the fire of greed, with the fire of hate, with the fire of delusion, with birth, ageing and death, with sorrow, with lamentation, with pain, grief and despair it is burning. ↗
Look at me, chica." When she does, I repeat, "Eres hermosa." "What does it mean?" "You're beautiful. ↗
لقدْ كانَ المستشفى العام ( وهو مؤسسة ظهرت سنة 1661 م ) وفيه تجسد الحجز بامتياز ، كان سجنا وإصلاحيةً ومأوى ومارستاناً ، أي أداة قمع مثلى تقوم بكلِ شيء عدا العلاج . أَنشيءَ في بداية الأمر في فرنسا يأمرٍ ملكي ، لمحاربة العطالة والتسكع والتسول في الشوارع وعلى أبواب الكنائس ، ليصبح بعد ذلك غولا هائجا سرعان ما ابتلع في طريقه كل شيء . ابتلع كل الذين يوجدون على جنبات خط رفيع لا يرى رسمته المصالح الخاصة والعامة : "مصلحة العائلة " و " مصلحة المجتمع " ومصلحة الدولة ↗
#age
I didn't get to grow up and pull away from her and bitch about her with my friends and confront her about the things I'd wished she'd done differently and then get older and understand that she had done the best she could and realize that what she had done was pretty damn good and take her fully back into my arms again. Her death had obliterated that. It had obliterated me. It had cut me short at the very heigh of my youthful arrogance. It had forced me to instantly grow up and forgive her every motherly fault at the same time that it kept me forever a child, my life both ended and begun in that premature place where we'd left off. She was my mother, but I was motherless. I was trapped by her, but utterly alone. She would always be the empty bowl that no one could full. I'd have to fill it myself again and again and again. ↗
#anger-at-losing-a-mother #grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother #loosing-your-mother-too-young #losing-a-mother #anger
Since I’ve been home I’ve been trying hard to mend my relationship with my mother. Asking her to do things for me instead of brushing aside any offer of help, as I did for years out of anger. Letting her handle all the money I won. Returning her hugs instead of tolerating them. My time in the arena made me realize how I needed to stop punishing her for something she couldn’t help, specifically the crushing depression she fell into after my father’s death. Because sometimes things happen to people and they’re not equipped to deal with them. ↗
I should attempt to treat human vice and folly geometrically... the passions of hatred, anger, envy, and so on, considered in themselves, follow from the necessity and efficacy of nature... I shall, therefore, treat the nature and strength of the emotion in exactly the same manner, as though I were concerned with lines, planes, and solids. ↗
Her mouth set. "I've already lost one man I loved tonight. I will not lose the other." She glared at him. "And curse you, you stone head, for making me say it first. ↗
#death #first #first-love #funny #funny-love
In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colors. In France, meliora probant, deteriora sequuntur -- the people are too much a race of gadabouts to maintain those household proprieties of which, indeed, they have a delicate appreciation, or at least the elements of a proper sense. The Chinese and most of the Eastern races have a warm but inappropriate fancy. The Scotch are poor decorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. In Spain, they are all curtains -- a nation of hangmen. The Russians do not furnish. The Hottentots and Kickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees alone are preposterous. ↗
