KILT, n. A costume sometimes worn by Scotchmen in America and Americans in Scotland.
If Freud had worn a kilt in the prescribed Highland manner he might have had a very different attitude to genitals.
I now let go of worn out things, worn out conditions, and worn out relationships. Divine order is now established and maintained in me and in my world.
Female clothing seems to be extremely difficult and almost like a puzzle for a man to take off. But I think if you get there, you win. A kilt is the complete opposite. The kilt is so easy to take off.
You do have to learn how to wear a kilt, and it's certainly very liberating and very freeing, but surprisingly very comfortable to wear, to ride a horse in a kilt. I was surprised by that.
So many people are concerned with being the perfect 'something.' Whether it's the perfect singer, the perfect sexy girl, or the perfect feminist. I don't want to be the perfect anything.
I was trying to be so perfect and so cookie-cutter because everyone's like, 'Aim for that Disney audience! Be perfect! Don't say anything wrong!' And it's just working out better for me just being me.
I don't like these cold, precise, perfect people, who, in order not to speak wrong, never speak at all, and in order not to do wrong, never do anything.
The kibbutz way of life is not for everyone. It is meant for people who are not in the business of working harder than they should be working, in order to make more money than they need, in order to buy things they don't really want, in order to impress people they don't really like.
The atonement in Jesus Christ's blood is perfect; there isn't anything that can be added to it. It is spotless, impeccable, flawless. It is perfect as God is perfect.
Wrestling with work-life balance is a luxury when working to support a family is a necessity rather than a choice. I think that focus is only partially a result of these tough economic times. I think it also reflects a bit of "having it all fatigue": women are worn out from feeling the pressure to excel at work, and be the perfect mom at home.
The glow dies down, and she's standing at the end of my bed--the one who's been following me around leaving feather messages. I take in the torn fishnets, plaid mini-kilt, shiny, riveted breastplate with leather straps at the sides and a worn Great Temolo decal near the left shoulder. Her wings are a crazy black-and-white-checkered pattern, like they've been spray-painted at a body shop to look like hipster sneakers.
Just work. Don't wait. Everybody's waiting until they have the perfect idea to start working. Even if you have an inkling of what you want to do, start moving towards it. And it's going to flesh itself out through the process of moving towards the goal. And by the time you get to where you're going to be, it's not going to look anything like it did when you sat on the couch thinking about it. And if you wait until it's perfect in your head before you get of the couch and start working on it, that's never going to happen.
Being a part-time pop star was perfect, really, when I wasn't worn out by the partying.
My go-to jeans are old Levi's I've gotten from boyfriends; they're worn-in and really yummy and perfect.
Nobody has a perfect anything. We don't have perfect lives. We're not perfect beings.