A Quote by Vanessa L. Williams
Cause there was a time when all I did was wish
You'd tell me this was love.
It's not the way I hoped
Or how I planned
But somehow it's enough.
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If something doesn't turn out as planned, you will ask yourself, 'How did I create that? What was I thinking? What were my beliefs? What did I say or not say? What did I do or not do to create that result? How did I get the other person to act that way? What do I need to do differently next time to get the result I want?'
I love 'Talking Smack.' It is so much fun. We just literally go out there and say whatever we want. Somehow, it's never planned, but somehow I end up bickering with Daniel Bryan every single time.
Wish You Were Here So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, Blue skys from pain. Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? And did they get you to trade Your heros for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.
I love to be busy and be challenged. I'm my happiest when I'm under pressure and almost overwhelmed by how much I have to get done. I wish I could say I'm an architect and planned it this way, foresaw doing all these things, but honestly, I've been lucky that things have come across my path and they've worked out well for me.
I have something to tell you." "How, you have something to tell me?" "You have understood me exactly." "Well, I am listening." "Listening? Then, you wish me to tell you?" "Yes, that is it. I am listening, and therefore I wish you to tell me." "Shall I tell you now?" "No.
He was already looking at their relationship through the lens of the past tense. It puzzled her, the ability of romantic love to mutate, how quickly a loved one could become a stranger. Where did the love go? Perhaps real love was familial, somehow, linked to blood, since love for children did not die as romantic love did.
How much I wish I could tell you, Dad
How much you mean to me....
But there are no words to say
How much I admire you...
appreciate you...
thank you for everything you've done.
love you
Actually, there are
I've just used them
How much I wish you
A happy, happy birthday Dad
I love my country. I love my guns. I love my family. I love the way it is now, and anybody that tries to change it has to come through me. That should be all of our attitudes. Cause this is America, and a country boy is good enough for me, son.
So many people know me.
I wish I did.
I wish someone would tell me about me.
I just wish that God or my parents or Sam or my sister or someone would just tell me what's wrong with me. Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense. To make this all go away.
She did not want to be that woman - the one of whom they spoke. She had never planned to be that woman. Somehow, it had happened, however...somehow, she had lost her way and, without realizing it, she had chosen this staid, boring life instead of a different, more adventurous one.
It's late at night and I can't sleep.
Missing you just runs too deep.
Oh I can't breathe, thinking of your smile.
Every kiss I can't forget, this aching heart ain't broken yet.
Oh God I wish I could make you see
Cause I know this flame isn't dying
So nothing can stop me from trying
Baby you know that
Maybe it's time for miracles
Cause I ain't giving up on love
You know that maybe it's time for miracles
Cause I ain't giving up on love
No I ain't giving up on us
"She (Minnie Ruth Solomon) was unusual because even though I knew her family was as poor as ours, nothing she said or did seemed touched by that. Or by prejudice. Or by anything the world said or did. It was as if she had something inside her that somehow made all that not count. I fell in love with her some the first time we ever talked, and a little bit more every time after that until I thought I couldn't love her more than I did. And when I felt that way, I asked her to marry me . . . and she said she would."
You're beautiful, every part of you. I love your hair, the way it looks, the way it feels. I love touching it, smelling it. I love the way you wrinkle your nose when you laugh. It makes me laugh, too, every time. And I love watching you eat. Sometimes you can't shovel it in fast enough, but when you get interested in a conversation, you forget there's anything in front of you. God knows, I love making love with you. I can't even talk about that without wanting you. I love your pathetic attachment to those seniors. I love how hard you work.
If I have all the tears that are shed on Broadway by guys in love, I will have enough salt water to start an opposition ocean to the Atlantic and Pacific, with enough left over to run the Great Salt Lake out of business. But I wish to say I never shed any of these tears personally, because I am never in love, and furthermore, barring a bad break, I never expect to be in love, for the way I look at it love is strictly the old phedinkus, and I tell the little guy as much.
These things you did were like prayers; you did them and you hoped they would save you. And for the most part they did. Or something did; you could tell by the fact that you were still alive.
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