#persona

Lighten up on yourself. No one is perfect. Gently accept your humanness. ↗

— Deborah Day

#self-improvement #self-love #love

An awake heart is like a sky that pours light. ↗

— Hafiz

#personal-growth #spirituality #transcendence #transformation #personal-growth

Artistry exists in everyone. What makes it blossom is a soul's personal desire to find an outlet for expression. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#author #creativity #expression #personal-expression #richelle

If you want to discover the true character of a person, you have only to observe what they are passionate about. ↗

— Shannon L. Alder

#causes #character #interests #judgement #passionate

I don't see why you two can't get along." "It is a personality issue," Rathenridge muttered. Dentin looked at him. No emotion, no reaction, simply bland observation. "Yours? ↗

— Rachel Rossano

#duty #humor #personality-types #rachel-rossano #rathenridge

Why do you work so hard to make yourself disliked? I should think you'd find it happens enough on its own without putting yourself to any extra trouble. ↗

— Steven Brust

#personality #humor

We must remember that we cannot change others, we can only change ourselves. ↗

— Bryant McGill

#personal-transformation #respect #change

When you choose your friends, don't be short-changed by choosing personality over character. ↗

— W. Somerset Maugham

#character #choose #choosing #friends #over

It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things. ↗

— Donald Miller

#change

I remembered during puberty, through the anorexic mists of intermittent menstrual cycles, that man, my father, lifting Shirley's nightdress over her head and asking her in his mocking way to choose what colour condom she wanted. 'Red or yellow?' Which did she choose? I can't remember. Perhaps she alternated. Perhaps there were other colours. It didn't happen once. It happened again and again. I had no power to stop it. That man, my father, had some control over me. I was drugged by the black silence in that big house, the vile whiff of aftershave, the crushing torment of inevitability. My father fucked Shirley using red or yellow condoms and it was those condoms that brought it all to an end. It was my last realization of the day; any more would have been too much to contemplate. That time when my mother had found used condoms in bedroom, he had admitted, after a pointless burst my father's of denial, that he had been going to prostitutes. That was no doubt true but I can't imagine clients take used condoms away with them; prostitutes would surely get rid of the things. No. My father kept those used condoms as a prize. He was fucking his fourteen-year-old-daughter. He was proud of it. Rebecca welled up with tears. Poor thing, she kept saying. Poor thing. ↗

— Alice Jamieson

#child-abuse #child-rape #child-sexual-abuse #condoms #dissociation