I finally realized only few people around you care about your life, the rest are just curious.

Finally (Evangeline) whispered, "I wish that I had been more prepared.

Page 142: "When a spouse says to the alcoholic, "you need to go to AA," that is obviously not true. The addict feels no need to do that at all, and isn't. But when she says, "I am moving out and will be open to getting back together when you are getting treatment for your addiction," then all of a sudden the addict feels "I need to get some help or I am going to lose my marriage." The need has been transferred. It is the same with any kind of problematic behavior of a person who is not taking feedback and ownership. The need and drive to do something about it must be transferred to that person, and that is done through having consequences that finally make him feel the pain instead of others. When he feels the pain, he will feel the need to change...A plan that has hope is one that limits your exposure to the foolish person's issues and forces him to feel the consequences of his performance so that he might have hope of waking up and changing.

How can a person feel like they are the victim-when they are the ones who hurt people. I've finally surrendered to the red flags.

I finally got you to love me the way I love you.

Finally, you are forgiven.

Peace is white sun reflections on summer pear trees, and ocean mist droplets defying gravity by air currents. Peace is caffeinated goodbye-kissing and velvet smiles laced with credence. Trumpet horns sound off the coming of Blue Jays, Swallows and Chickadee's. And there is no sadness echoing within or without. There is a taste of God in every grass blade and car horn raging in the city. The stop lights are all green, and there are children playing in the fountains. A dog laps my hand, and finally-I remembered what it's all about.

Sometimes you don't want things to get better. You want them to get worse before you can finally get ride off them.

I find my mom praying a lot more. She always has her Bible nearby. That light seems to be back in my mom's eyes . . . as if she's living for some renewed purpose. As if something was missing this entire time, and she's finally found it.

This path was not that of my conscious choosing. But after persistent subconscious confrontation, I have finally embraced what is, 'souly' for me...and I am thankful, when called upon, to be able to share and give to those who seek their own way of the path.

"What does it mean?" Flynn turns to gaze at me, eyes finally meeting mine.

Ish #177 "You never know what you don't know, until you finally know it.

I'm going to follow this invisible red thread until I find myself again? until I finally figure out? who I'm meant to be.

It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break; the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

The gotta, as in: "I think I'll stay up another fifteen-twenty minutes, honey, I gotta see how this chapter comes out." Even though the guy who says it spent the day at work thinking about getting laid and knows the odds are good his wife is going to be asleep when he finally gets up to the bedroom. The gotta, as in: "I know I should be starting supper now - he'll be mad if it's TV dinners again - but I gotta see how this ends." I gotta know will she live. I gotta know will he catch the shitheel who killed his father. I gotta know if she finds out her best friend's screwing her husband. The gotta. Nasty as a hand-job in a sleazy bar, fine as a fuck from the world's most talented call-girl. Oh boy it was bad and oh boy it was good and oh boy in the end it didn't matter how rude it was or how crude it was because in the end it was just like the Jacksons said on that record - don't stop til you get enough.

For so many years, I couldn't understand why every time I thought that someone finally loved me, like? for real, they would eventually turn to vapor. Every person whom I've ever loved is trapped inside of my chest. I've breathed all of them in so deeply that I've nearly choked and died on every soul that I've ever given myself to.

" The following year the house was substantially remodeled, and the conservatory removed. As the walls of the now crumbling wall were being torn down, one of the workmen chanced upon a small leatherbound book that had apparently been concealed behind a loose brick or in a crevice in the wall. By this time Emily Dickinson was a household name in Amherst. It happened that this carpenter was a lover of poetry- and hers in particular- and when he opened the little book and realized that that he had found her diary, he was "seized with a violent trembling," as he later told his grandson. Both electrified and terrified by the discovery, he hid the book in his lunch bucket until the workday ended and then took it home. He told himself that after he had read and savored every page, he would turn the diary over to someone who would know how to best share it with the public. But as he read, he fell more and more deeply under the poet's spell and began to imagine that he was her confidant. He convinced himself that in his new role he was no longer obliged to give up the diary. Finally, having brushed away the light taps of conscience, he hid the book at the back of an oak chest in his bedroom, from which he would draw it out periodically over the course of the next sixty-four years until he had virtually memorized its contents. Even his family never knew of its existence.

This is perhaps the most noble aim of poetry, to attach ourselves to the world around us, to turn desire into love, to embrace, finally what always evades us, what is beyond, but what is always there ? the unspoken, the spirit, the soul.

"You strive, toil and sweat to get it. You kill for it. You die for it. When you finally have it, you realize you don't want it anymore.

In my fourth year as a Games athlete, I had finally stockpiled enough wisdom and experience to keep a cool head in the midst of Dave's mental assault.

explore the similarities and differences between your views and those of others-and pay special attention to prediction markets and other Methods of extracting wisdom from crowds. Synthesize all these different views into a single vision as acute as that of a dragonfly. Finally, express your judgment as precisely as you can, using a finely grained scale of probability.

"...it is never safe to classify the souls of one's neighbors; one is apt, in the long run, to be proved a fool. You should regard each meeting with a friend as a sitting he is unwillingly giving you for a portrait -- a portrait that, probably, when you or he die, will still be unfinished. And, though this is an absorbing pursuit, nevertheless, the painters are apt to end pessimists. For however handsome and merry may be the face, however rich the background, in the first rough sketch of each portrait, yet with every added stroke of the brush, with every tiny readjustment of the 'values,' with every modification of the chiaroscuro, the eyes looking out at you grow more disquieting. And, finally, it is your

"You might say that you've finally earned the wisdom.

For years I've been searching for a homeland, finally I found it in you..