#mind

Suffering usually relates to wanting things to be different from the way they are. ↗

— Allan Lokos

#health #inspiration #inspirational #mindfulness #suffering

A reader ought to be able to hold it and become familiar with its organized contents and make it a mind's manageable companion. ↗

— William Safire

#become #companion #contents #familiar #hold

His mind scolded him for his stupidity and urged him to forget her but his heart had no justifications for its stand. It remained unmoved, its solidarity unaffected, its arrogance still holding. ↗

— Faraaz Kazi

#heart #love #mind #love

The link between the spirit and the mind is the deep heart". ~R. Alan Woods [2012] ↗

— R. Alan Woods

#mind #mind-body-spirit #r-alan-woods #spirit #r-alan-woods

The first place where self-esteem begins its journey is within us. ↗

— Stephen Richards

#cosmic-ordering #law-of-attraction #mind-body-spirit #mind-power #money

Your mind was made to know and love God. ↗

— John Piper

#god #love #mind #purpose #life

He assaulted the man with a psychic wave. "You are a cockroach." In his inebraited state, Cody had no resistance at all to a vampire mind control. He fell to the floor and scurried around the foyer on all fours. "I am a cockroach" he muttered in a squeaky voice. "Hmm, about time you figured that one out," Fidelia steped back as he brushed against her long skirt. ↗

— Kerrelyn Sparks

#ex #mind-control #vampire #love

People are sheep. TV is the shepherd. ↗

— Jess C. Scott

#entertainment #herd-mentality #humor #hype #mainstream-media

Finally, everybody agrees that no one pursuit can be successfully followed by a man who is preoccupied with many things—eloquence cannot, nor the liberal studies—since the mind, when distracted, takes in nothing very deeply, but rejects everything that is, as it were, crammed into it. There is nothing the busy man is less busied with than living: there is nothing that is harder to learn. ↗

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

#busyness #life #living #mind #preoccupation

The museums in children’s minds, I think, automatically empty themselves in times of utmost horror—to protect the children from eternal grief. For my own part, though: It would have been catastrophe if I had forgotten my sister at once. I had never told her so, but she was the person I had always written for. She was the secret of whatever artistic unity I had ever achieved. She was the secret of my technique. Any creation which has any wholeness and harmoniousness, I suspect, was made by an artist or inventor with an audience of one in mind. Yes, and she was nice enough, or Nature was nice enough, to allow me to feel her presence for a number of years after she died—to let me go on writing for her. But then she began to fade away, perhaps because she had more important business elsewhere. ↗

— Kurt Vonnegut

#business