A Quote by Sarah J. Maas

I was as unburdened as a piece of dandelion fluff, and he was the wind that stirred me about the world. — © Sarah J. Maas
I was as unburdened as a piece of dandelion fluff, and he was the wind that stirred me about the world.
I wish I could close my eyes and be blown into dust and nothingness, feel all my thoughts disperse like dandelion fluff drifting off on the wind. But his hands keep pulling me back: into the alley, and Portland, and a world that has suddenly stopped making sense.
I'm allergic to family occasions. Sometimes I think we'd do better as dandelion seeds-no family, no history, just floating off into the world, each on our own piece of fluff.
L I K E is like a bunch of dandelion seeds falling beautifully on the ground. It's a soft and good feeling but can come and go at any time L O V E is when those same dandelion seeds become firmly rooted sowing its seeds and growing another dandelion on the spot. It takes a lot of energy to grow the dandelion like protecting it from the wind and giving it water and sunlight but it becomes very precious and beautiful in the end
I want my fluff-fluff! (Bob) Fluff-fluff… (Zarek looked panicked.) (Zarek)
On TV, if you fluff your lines, nobody gives a toss. But if you fluff a penalty in the World Cup, well - we all know how much that matters.
I got lot to do at a pretty young age in terms of emotionally challenging films. I did not do any fluff... fluff is not me.
Young Dandelion On a hedge-side Said young Dandelion Who'll be my bride? Said young Dandelion With a sweet air, I have my eye on Miss Daisy fair.
Death by evaporation. May the saltwater wind that gets shot out of a barreling wave blow me away like an old puffy dandelion into the sky.
A cool breeze stirred my hair at that moment, as the night wind began to come down from the hills, but it felt like a breath from another world.
Once an idea is out and about, it can't be called back, silenced or erased. You can't contain it, any more than you could put the head of a dandelion back together after the wind has scattered its seeds.
Not only does the wind of accidents stir me according to its blowing, but I am also stirred and troubled by the instability of my attitude.
I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .
A regular wind-up toy world this is, I think. Once a day the wind-up bird has to come and wind the springs of this world. Alone in this fun house, only I grow old, a pale softball of death swelling inside me. Yet even as I sleep somewhere between Saturn and Uranus, wind-up birds everywhere are busy at work fulfilling their appointed rounds.
Feel the wind. This wind blows from world to world and from life to death. This is the wind of dharma. Be in love with the wind. It is an intimate lover. It enraptures you. It blows you through eternity.
It turns out there's only one thing that capuchins really, really love - and that's sweet stuff. If you give them a big vat of say, marshmallow fluff, and you let them go at it, what they'll do is eat their body weight in marshmallow fluff, walk away, they'll vomit, and they'll come back and eat their body weight again. And they'll vomit. And they'll do that for as long as there is marshmallow fluff out there. They love marshmallow fluff.
I'd taken the bull by the horns by liberating myself and creating a career. It took guts - it was scary and chancy - but they discounted me as empty-headed: some little piece of fluff without any brain that happened to come along.
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