♥ 35174
→ 10 Feb 13 at 4 pm
→ 10 Feb 13 at 4 pm
Stephen R. Covey (via stellablu)
(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege, via confusionforbreakfast)
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.
(Source: ofheightsandhollows, via 472239364)
♥ 3427
→ 07 Dec 12 at 1 pm
→ 07 Dec 12 at 1 pm
Gloria Naylor (via a-lionsheart)
(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege, via daphneemarie)
"Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over."
"I do not want to fix someone. I’m too busy working on myself. I wouldn’t want to date someone who isn’t doing the same, who doesn’t see the value in growth. I’m not here to hold someone’s hand while they learn how to grow up. I’m not a pre-school teacher; I’m not a therapist. A man is not an art project to be cut up into little pieces and glued back together. You’re your own fixer-upper, honey; do with that what you will."
My conversation with a Yale grad. He was accepted to every Ivy League, and is currently at one of the top occupations in Microsoft.
Him:
I know right now, everything seems so unfair. You need to study, all to get compared with other people. Your future is dependent mostly on whether you go to this school, major in this thing, receive this much money, or get this job. I know. I was there, I was you. Studying my ass off for an easier life. You're told that everything right now is the most important, that you need to get As, go to a great college, have an amazing job, generate immense revenue, therefore become happy. But, there's just one thing that I failed to understand. And let me tell you, there are barely any things that I do not understand. Yet, I have no idea why I'm not happy. From a young age, you're told to take these steps and if you succeed, you'll reach happiness. It's not true. I've done every step every mother would tell her child to do, to become, but here I am, unhappy. After many years of trying to find where I went wrong, I realized that I had been looking in the completely wrong place.
Me:
Then where do you look?
Him:
At your friends. Your relationships. Your family. Your coworkers, your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your social life. Many of the richest men in the world aren't happy, why? Because they spent all their lives trying to achieve happiness in the wrong place. You have a ton of money, great. But in the end, we're all sitting in our rocking chairs, and nobody cares who had the most money or who went to the best college. It's about who had the most fun. Who had the most people to look after them, who had the most to look after. The happiest are the ones that have people to call in times of trouble, the ones that had the time to spend with their family and feel all that love. That's what people lack! Love. When you're on your deathbed, everything doesn't matter anymore you see. You'd want people that love you to be around you, to be comforting you, to tell you about all the great things you did for people. You don't want to be alone, with what? A degree? Cash that will never be used? Nobody ever says "wow, I went to a great college and therefore I'm satisfied" in the end. Only the lucky ones get to say "wow, I was surrounded by love my whole life. My time on this earth was beautiful."
Me:
Him:
But you know, I'm not telling you not to get into a great college or not to do any of the things society tells you to. Go for it, it pays off! It doesn't give you happiness but it takes a lot of stress off your shoulders. All I'm saying is don't make it your everything. If you don't get in somewhere good, don't stress about it. As long as you're okay with the people around you, you're going to be fine. I'm sure of it. Priorities change in the end. We're only people.
"Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect."
♥ 60483
→ 19 Nov 12 at 12 am
→ 19 Nov 12 at 12 am
“Here’s What Our Parents Never Taught Us,” Shinji Moon (via plumesrouges)
(Source: commovente, via plumesrouges-deactivated2012120)
"Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.
You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
It’s okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.
You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.
You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.
One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.
Molt.
Don’t be afraid.
Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.
Remember,
a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
"
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.
rubbing against your mouth.
It’s okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.
They will love you anyways.
Don’t be afraid.
against the windowpane.
The glass will break through often.
a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
