A Quote by Lanie Lane
Pretending not to be hurt is a brave thing to do... But you know what? Crying is braver. Why? Coz not everyone can accept the fact that... Not all things are meant for you.
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Sometimes I think everyone is just pretending to be brave, and none of us really are. Maybe pretending is how you get brave, I don't know.
There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face.
God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this. Let me straighten after pain, As a tree straightens after the rain, Shining and lovely again. God, make me brave for life; much braver than this. As the blown grass lifts, let me rise From sorrow with quiet eyes, Knowing Thy way is wise. God, make me brave, life brings Such blinding things. Help me to keep my sight; Help me to see aright That out of dark comes light.
I don't know why we have this shame about obesity, but it's kind of a good thing that we have this shame about obesity - we shouldn't accept the fact that everyone is obese.
Brave is the lion tamer, brave is the world subduer, but braver is the one who has subdued himself.
You're all Buddhas, pretending not to be. You're all the Christ, pretending not to be. You're all Atman, pretending not to be. You're all love, pretending not to be. You're all one, pretending not to be. You're all Gurus, pretending not to be. You're all God, pretending not to be. When you're ready to stop pretending, then you're ready to just be the real you. That's your home.
The fact that you have the ability to stand on stage and sing while you’re crying is so brave.
Yet, isn't it strange, isn't it weird, how we can KNOW that someone is not behaving in the way we imagine, and at the same time we can be totally convinced that he is! How clever the human mind is, that it can accept two contradictory things as 'facts.' Yes, I know that in this case one 'fact' was untrue. But the human mind can KNOW something is untrue and still accept it as a 'fact,' and act on it as if it were true.
There will come a point in everyone's life , however, where only intuition can make the leap ahead, without ever knowing precisely how. One can never know why but one must accept intuition as a fact.
He gulped. "No, we aren't done chatting. Why aren't you afraid of dying?"
"Everything and everyone has an end," she said. "I mean, you're going to be killed soon and though I loathe the thought, you don't see me crying about that, either. I know what will happen, and I accept what cannot be changed. I'm trying to live while I can. While we can. Dwelling on the bad is what destroys all hints of joy.
I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
Your mind knows your pretending, but, in terms of the adrenaline and the fact that you are actually crying, and that you are that upset, and you are screaming, and you are simulating terror, your body does not know that it is not real. Your body feels really wrecked afterwards.
For crying out loud, stop comparing and start living! And you'll be happier with your life, I guarantee. This is crucial: the most difficult thing in the world is to be who you are not. Pretending and trying to be someone else is the official pastime of the human race. And the easiest thing in the world is to be yourself. Be happy. Live! There must be a reason why God made you tall or short or fat or thin or bumpy all over. Love who you are!
It doesn't matter if you're play-pretending crying or play-pretending laughing, you're still play-pretending.
If things are said maliciously, and they're meant to hurt, then that's the sort of thing we need to try and stamp out.
If you should ask me where I've been all this time I have to say "Things happen." I have to dwell on stones darkening the earth, on the river ruined in its own duration: I know nothing save things the birds have lost, the sea I left behind, or my sister crying. Why this abundance of places? Why does day lock with day? Why the dark night swilling round in our mouths? And why the dead?
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