#ness

Intimacy is the capacity to be rather weird with someone - and finding that that's ok with them. ↗

— Alain de Botton

#relationships #weirdness #weird

It's weird to feel like you miss someone you're not even sure you know. ↗

— David Foster Wallace

#longing #weird

I am wired by nature to love the same toys that the world loves. I start to fit in. I start to love what others love. I start to call earth "home." Before you know it, I am calling luxeries "needs" and using my money just the way unbelievers do. I begin to forget the war. I don't think much about people perishing. Missions and unreached people drop out of my mind. I stop dreaming about the triumphs of grace. I sink into a secular mind-set that looks first to what man can do, not what God can do. It is a terrible sickness. And I thank God for those who have forced me again and again toward a wartime mind-set. ↗

— John Piper

#fitting-in #materialism #mind-set #missions #money

I am not proud, but I am happy; and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride. ↗

— Alexandre Dumas

#pride #pride

My life and most people's lives are a series of little miracles -- strange coincidences which spring from uncontrollable impulses and give rise to incomprehensible dreams. We spend a lot of time pretending that we are normal, but underneath the surface each one of us knows that he or she is unique. ↗

— Colin Clark

#uniqueness #dreams

Do not look for happiness outside yourself. The awakened seek happiness inside. ↗

— Peter Deunov

#enlightenment #happiness #inner-peace #self-fulfillment #wisdom

His own opinion, which he does not air, is that the origin of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul. ↗

— J.M. Coetzee

#language #song #soul #speech #speech

...some say Twitter seems trite and lacks weightiness - but in actuality, it lends itself to poetry - it can be very compressed and intense... ↗

— John Geddes

#intense #poetry #trie #twitter #weightiness

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. ↗

— Kenneth Grahame

#coziness #meals #tea #toast #twitter

Don’t ever leave me again,” I said in a tiny voice. I won’t,” he promised into my hair, sounding most un-Fang-like. “I won’t. Not ever.” And just like that, a cold shard of ice that had been inside my chest ever since we’d split up-well, it just disappeared. I felt myself relax for the first time in I don’t known how long. The wind was chilly, but the sun was bright, and my whole flock was together. Fang and I were together. Excuse me? I’m alive too.” Iggy’s plaintive voice made me pull back. ↗

— James Patterson

#maxride #voice