A Quote by Sophie Swetchine

The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master. — © Sophie Swetchine
The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
P. Diddy gave me his valet ticket once... because he thought I was the valet lady.
Nobody, they say, is a hero to his valet. Of course; for a man must be a hero to understand a hero. The valet, I dare say, has great respect for some person of his own stamp.
A man likes to believe that he is the master of his soul. But as long as he is unable to control his moods and emotions, or to be conscious of the myriad secret ways in which unconscious factors insinuate themselves into his arrangements and decisions, he is certainly not his own master.
As the master so the valet.
The average mind requires a change of environment before he can change his thought. He has to go somewhere or bring into his presence something that will suggest a new line of thinking and feeling. The master mind, however, can change his thought whenever he so desires. A change of scene is not necessary, because such a mind is not controlled from without. A change of scene will not produce a change of thought in the master mind unless he so elects.
Love is always master everywhere. It shapes the soul, the heart, and the mind wherever it exists. What matters is not the amount of love, but simply its existence in the mind and heart where it resides. And it truly appears that love is to the soul of the lover as the soul itself is to the body which it animates.
The confidant of my vices is my master, though he were my valet.
Devin McCourty - he's got his own style: he always wears a nice fitted suit and mixes up his colors. He's got some game when it comes to the fashion world.
Words in the mind are like colors on the palette of the artist. The more colors we have access to, the easier it is to create a captivating picture on the canvas, and the more practice we give to using those many colors appropriately and uniquely, the more likely we will be to create a masterpiece of self expression.
Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it.
No man is a hero to his valet. This is not because the hero is no hero, but because the valet is a valet.
Woman is the crown of all creation, but Man is the head who wears it, and even the servant is master in his house.
The real master is only a presence. He has no intentions of being a master. His presence is his teaching. His love is his message. Every gesture of his hand is pointing to the moon. And this whole thing is not being done, it is a happening. The master is not a doer. He has learned the greatest secret of life: let-go. The master has drowned his ego and the idea of separation from existence itself.
The soul is no traveller; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still, and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not like an interloper or a valet.
This creature is the Pooka. Pay no mind to the shape he wears, for he’s none of his own, and no soul either. Ware him ever, trust him never, but when the wind’s right he has his uses. Never forget that you will never know him. The Pooka’s mystery even to the Pooka.
That's Quentin. He's an absolute master of his own fate. If he agrees with you, he'll change his mind instantly. If he thinks that he's right, there's no way you can get him to change his mind.
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