In our post-everything culture, obey has become a four-letter word. Obeying is for wimps. Obeying is for people who didn’t do well enough on their SATs to write their own rules. Only the weak and the feeble and the young—-well, not even the young anymore—-need to obey. Funny, because the root of the word obey is from the French verb meaning “to listen, or to give ear to.” It was never intended as a militant word, but one of hearing, of understanding. Of getting it. For a world obsessed with staying in constant communication, we aren’t really very good listeners.
In a funny way, Dad was always a bow-tie wearer, always a little more traditional than you might imagine. Because even though he had blue hair and tattoos and wore leather jackets and worked in a record store, he wanted to marry Mom back at a time when the rest of their friends were still having drunken one-night stands. "Girlfriend is such a stupid word," he said. "I couldn't stand calling her that. So, we had to get married, so I could call her "wife"'.
As a professional speaker, my facial expressions are essential for effectively telling stories, engaging audiences, fostering involvement, and connecting on a personal level. One day I decided to get Botox in my forehead to erase a few wrinkles and signs of aging. Much to my surprise and disappointment, I could no longer raise my eyebrows. My face was stuck in a heavy-browed expression, which is the polar-opposite of my joyful spirit and enthusiastic nature. It makes a funny story, but it taught me that authenticity wins over vanity any day!
That’s the funny thing,” she said. “Men always want to die for something. For someone. I can see the appeal. You do it once and it’s done. No more worrying, not knowing, about tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. I know you all think it sounds brave, but I’ll tell you something even braver. To struggle and fight for the ones you love today. And then do it all over again the next day. Every day. For your whole life. It’s not as romantic, I admit. But it takes a lot of courage to live for someone, too.
His name feels like a secret, and now he's wearing it on his wrist. I want to know all about this girl who put it there. What she looks like. If she's got freckles, fair hair or dark, like his. If she's scrappy or etheral, funny or serious, scrape-kneed or ladylike. I know that she loves him, so I want to know everything else. But West doesn't want to share her with me. I shouldn't keep trying to scale these walls he puts up. I'm a terrible climber.
“Yeah, I suppose slightly more people now can pronounce my name. It's all about recognition, isn't it? I have a funny cognizance of the fact that Hollywood is about commerce and art; it's an uncomfortable mixture of the two. People aren't going to put you in a movie unless people know who you are, and if your movie made $80 million, people will go Hey, we'll put him in a movie.' It isn't necessarily about the performance, so yeah, that was great and it means you get to read scripts and meet people that you wouldn't have done in the past.”
It's funny when so many people I meet tell me that I'm a complicated and mysterious person they can’t understand. The problem isn't in me but in them. When I say something, I do it. The problem is that they don't believe I will, and they don't believe anyone can do what I say I will. That's their confusion. But actually, I'm a simple person, as I always match my own words. That's how you must see it. Just cut through "common sense" and move forward, and achieve! Let others worry about the how.
What an astonishing thing a book is. It's a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you're inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic." (1980)]
I need to buy some postcards to send to Mom and Dad,' said Ian, heading up the steas to the Captain's Quill Bookshop. 'I also want to send some funny ones to Jackson and some of my other friends.''I'll get one for my mom,' said Zoe.But as she sorted through the postcards, she remembered her mom was travling all summer without a fixed address, and email was a no-go because Granddad didn't own a computer. She didn't have the addresses of any of her friends with her, either-not that she had many friends.
When I was a little girl I used to read fairy tales. In fairy tales you meet Prince Charming and he's everything you ever wanted. In fairy tales the bad guy is very easy to spot. The bad guy is always wearing a black cape so you always know who he is. Then you grow up and you realize that Prince Charming is not as easy to find as you thought. You realize the bad guy is not wearing a black cape and he's not easy to spot; he's really funny, and he makes you laugh, and he has perfect hair.