A Quote by Nick Yarris
There is a man out there who prosecuted me. He's been constantly calling different lawyers, telling them how afraid of me his is. He's afraid I'll come after him now that I'm out, because of all the horrible things he did to me. The furthest thing from my mind I would ever do is waste a day being vindictive.
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Maybe he didn’t really encourage me to do things, but he didn’t prevent me from doing them either. But after a while, I didn’t do things because I didn’t want him to think different about me. But the thing is, I wasn’t being honest. So, why would I care whether or not he loved me when he didn’t really even know me?
so if you love him, why keep him waiting for 13 years?" "Because I was afraid. Afraid of not being worthy, afraid of not knowing how to love him, afraid of waking up one day and not loving him anymore.
Hank Willis Thomas is great. He's the one who "discovered" my work and saw something that I didn't see. He's still constantly pushing me to try out new ideas and not be afraid of what other people will say. He truly is a mentor, and I often ask him about the art world, how to juggle it all and not lose your mind. It would be like accepting an award without thanking him because he really has been so supportive.
I lied to Julia, I didn't know what else to do because you - you make me feel..." I had to stop. Not because I didn't have words. I did. But I was afraid to say them. He looked at me, and I knew then I could love him. That if I let myself I would. "You make me feel too," he said, and held out one hand.
God, I got lucky. If I'd hurt it, it would have put me out of practice for a while.” Smiling, he returned to his chair. "I know. You kept telling me that while I was carrying you. You were very upset.” "You...you carried me here?” "After we broke the bench apart and freed your foot.” Man. I'd missed out on a lot. The only thing better than imagining Dimitri carrying me in his arms was imagining him shirtless while carrying me in his arms.
I have Georges St-Pierre out here telling me 'you really think I'm afraid of you, man?' and I'm like you should be, bro. You should be scared out of your mind. I'll tell you what, I'm scared of him.
I was given the name by my brother when I was about eleven or twelve years old. He was older than me, and around that age I was starting to get into girls, and when they would call the house for him, and when he was not there, I would try to talk to them. I was trying to be the man and trying to get them to come and see me, not worrying about him. When he found out... he started calling me Ice Cube as a joke because he said I was trying to be too cool. I just liked it and started telling everybody in the hood "my name is Ice Cube."
For one, [ Freddie Roach] is wasting his time because I don't even read those reports. So that's the first thing. Secondly, I hear about them from other people around me and it doesn't make a difference to me. It seems kind of odd for him to be coming out so much and saying so many different things and every day it's a new thing. But like I said, I don't read them and I don't care about them and it doesn't make a difference come fight night.
He turns toward me. I want to touch him, but I’m afraid of his bareness; afraid that he will make me bare too. ‘Is this scaring you, Tris?’ ‘No,’ I croak. I clear my throat. ‘Not really. I’m only…afraid of what I want.’ ‘What do you want?’ Then his face tightens. ‘Me?’ Slowly I nod.
I’m not a violent person, Sydney. Not at all. I’ll make love over war any day. But I swear, if they’d hurt you—” “They didn’t,” I said firmly. I refused to let him know how scared I’d been because I was afraid he might go after them. “I’m fine. You came to the rescue.” A smile played at his lips. “Something tells me you would’ve rescued yourself.” And like that, the smile vanished. “But spirit would’ve been a lot more effective than a branch.” “Your treejitsu was very effective.
In my head, Carlisle’s kind eyes did not judge me. I knew that he would forgive me for this horrible act that I would do. Because he loved me. Because he thought I was better than I was. And he would still love me, even as I now proved him wrong.
What if all I'd ever known was how it had been for the past three years - me being an unwanted outsider in my own family? I might have turned out like Aphrodite, and I might still be letting my parents control me because I was hoping desperately that I would be good enough, make them proud, so that some day they would really love me.
I was afraid that I would find out that I didn't work hard, that I wasn't a very good mother. I was feeling so inadequate in everything I did. I was afraid that I was going to come out being this crazy, disorganized, neurotic person. So it was revelatory that I worked more than 50 hours a week and I still spent a tonne of time with my kids. It was like, "Why do I feel one way when the reality is so different?"
I'm pretty open. I'm not afraid of men. I'm not afraid of women. I'm not afraid of sex and sexuality. It's part of me, and it comes out in the photograph. It's as if at that moment when I'm taking pictures, I'm not a man and I'm not a woman. If I see a moment that seems true to me, that seems honest, whether it's female or male, it's part of me as well.
[to Jesus] You did not come down from the cross when they shouted to you, mocking and reviling you: "Come down from the cross and we will believe that it is you." You did not come down because, again, you did not want to enslave man by a miracle and thirsted for faith that is free, not miraculous...I swear, man is created weaker and baser than you thought him! How, how can he ever accomplish the same things as you? ...Respecting him less, you would have demanded less of him, and that would be closer to love, for his burden would be lighter.
Kill me, Doug. Just kill me now. Put me out of my misery.” “Christ, Kincaid, what did you say to him?” murmured Doug. “Well,” I told Doug, “I ripped on his fans and on how long it takes for his books to come out.” Doug stared at me, his expectations exceeded. “Then I said—not knowing who he was—that I’d be Seth Mortensen’s love slave in exchange for advanced copies of his books.
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