Author of quotes: Tomi Greswell. Page 1

And he who intended to convert me in my unbelief, only strengthened me in it.

Saint-Exupery expressed the idea about the denial of sympathy with the wounds exposed. There was, of course, right. However, as always. Colder and harder than it looks the people outside, the more fragile, gentle and vulnerable on the inside. It runs in the opposite direction - the softer, more sensitive and dramatic person in appearance, the indifferent nature, and feeling its surface. "Thunders only that empty inside." When the eyes of the public accomplished personal drama, it is just an attempt to attract attention, disrupt applause. Having sold his soul to the hammer and to the satisfaction of their needs eroticheskie, actor safely forget about "bleeding" the wound and removed behind the scenes with the aim of finding new scripts for their theatre productions. Pain true always hidden from the eyes of a stranger and often experienced alone. Suffering is not looking for a viewer is suffering silently. For when your soul is heavy and your feelings are deep, it is impossible to lavish yourself in all directions. The person whose inner world is filled with in itself so constituted that it can not indulge in yourself, in your joy, in your sorrow anyone. The depth of the seas the election. There is the unfolding war between light and shadow, there is a purple passion fire dancing there under the moonlight sleeps tenderness there reigns love. And external cold iron armor - only way to protect yourself. Having in hand a beautiful flower whose fragrance is exceptional, you would have handed it to the first comer?

Candy is surrogates of happiness.

He loves the movie. Like mirrors. Loves books. He also loves food, good food, smell the flowers, the music. Loves women. Loves last a little less than a movie and a little more than food and books. If he built the house, it would have only three rooms. The bedroom with the biggest bed in the world, in front of the bed cinema with awesome sound. Else in this room that would add light and certainly mirror. In addition to the bedroom would be the bathroom, with a large window so when you open it, you could hear the birds singing in the garden. His house was the garden. The third room would be, of course, the library. Such that are easily lost. If at that time he had a woman who cares about him so much to her to live, he certainly would have done more and the kitchen. Unfortunately, he can not cook, but sincerely hopes that his beloved will not be deprived of this precious talent. And if all it was, then in the morning, after bathing, they would go to the garden to the flowers and lay on the grass in the sun, reading Proust and Nietzsche, well, or Chomsky and Krauss, and maybe Aristotle or Inayat Khan, and in the evenings would be looking at Kubrick and Allen, well, or Bertolucci and buñuel, and maybe Tarantino or Dolan, and would eat the cherry and strawberry pies, well, or pasta with seafood, and maybe a burrito or Ratatouille, would put old vinyl jazz, well, or included Drake and Cobain, maybe Beethoven or yasmin levy. Danced. And never ceased to love each other.

People are so afraid, so worried, that the objects of their adoration for him has cooled. Actually would be afraid that they will cool down many people before.

You know, when that happens, I can't seem to forgive yourself. Still trying to find an excuse. Yourself. Her. Sometimes it seems to work, but the pain does not become less. She goes along with you. Day to day, from year to year. And all this time you expect that someday it will disappear, or at least blunted. While waiting, again and again back to the beginning, trying to prove something to myself, but actually her own, but actually anyone who did not believe. Although well aware that to blame you. You and only you. Was not pushy, did not go through. Chickened out? Chickened out. Scared. And then you even managed to find itself some noble excuse. You are now trying sometimes to convince myself to them, but to no avail. Meanwhile, identify themselves with the notorious hero of the novel, Fitzgerald, turn on every girl who even remotely resembles her. Of course, in the hope that this is it. I wish to see her, right? So by accident. That would be happiness. Such a simple recipe for happiness... Who would have thought...
Ask God in the hope to calm. Do you remember those stories about heaven? Is it true that we will be there with your loved ones?
These days and nights here on earth, torture... Why relive it again and again? For what? Trying to find some reason, something that could hang on... Vengeance? Yes, we are all weak, pathetic and insignificant. Admit? Each of your current step is not more than the echo of the last offense.
And here you are again running away for my shadow, running past life... So maybe it's time to finally stop? Maybe it's time to finally forgive yourself?

We are doomed to wander in solitude, protecting the light of their own hearts.

Trauma childhood and first love remain with us forever...

I admire the human ability to be open. To trust someone completely. To venture on their own vulnerability to anyone. Unashamed of his weakness. To bare his demons. Directly talking about feelings and fears. Absolute naturalness. That's what is really capable to impress, to penetrate into the heart. It's very common. And it is most valuable that we have.

I want to be thought of not only as something beautiful but as something living.

Best our feelings die in time.

The lack of passion devalues everything.

Beauty is not about form, beauty is embodied in the form. Beauty is the harmony of internal and external. Meeting with the beauty, taking her, merging with her, man becomes complete - as God intended - loving.

Under the rule of the unknown we plan all the events are added one after the other in a uniform mosaic, and step by step comes consciousness of feeling. Step by step something is embodied in the world totally unexpected, absolutely incredible way for us, revealing the essence of people, events, things tangible and intangible world.