A Quote by Ray Bradbury
I’ve often been accused of being too emotional and sentimental, but I believe in honest sentiment, and the need to purge ourselves at certain times, which is ancient. Men would live at least five or six more years and not have ulcers if they could cry better.
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It is better to believe in men too rashly, and regret, than believe too meanly. Men could be more than they are, if they would try for it. He has shown them that.
I'm quite an emotional person. I cry a lot. I do not like conflict, so if I have an argument with my parents, I'll often cry. I become too emotional.
Married women are far more depressed than married men - in unhappy marriages, three times more; and - interestingly - in happy marriages, five times more. In truth, it is men who are thriving in marriage, now as always, and who show symptoms of psychological and physical distress outside it. Not only their emotional well-being but their very lives, some studies say, depend on being married!
The difference between sentiment and being sentimental is the following: Sentiment is when a driver swerves out of the way to avoid hitting a rabbit on the road. Being sentimental is when the same driver, when swerving away from the rabbit, hits a pedestrian.
I went to yoga for six months straight, but that was about five years ago! I've been trying to get back. I probably could've seen the President five times, it'd be easier than it has been to get back to yoga!
Many of us believe that we are victims to what happens to us, and therefore unworthy of anything better. What we've been taught and trained to believe about ourselves as children, often this is negative and we need to unlearn that. The way we unlearn them is by having a vision and moving forward. Staying focused and being true to that vision of what we desire for ourselves.
And I have finally realized that, you know, it's not a given that my lifespan will accommodate my writing aspirations. It could be that it would take me 12 more books at six years each to get it - which means I would have to live to be 126. Which I fully intend to do, of course.
James, you are all the family I have. I would die for you. You know that. I would die without you. If it were not for you, I would be dead a hundred times over these past five years. I owe you everything, and if you cannot believe I have empathy, perhaps you might at least believe I know honor--honor, and debt--
I know at times I've been very guilty of being too honest at times or too opinionated at times and it costs you a nickel or two.
There are certain things I believe we need to keep in our emotional arsenal as we navigate through life. Hope is a big one. The more of that we can carry, the better.
I've been accused, many times, as a writer/director, of my pace being too leisurely and too long.
Now the same mystery which often veils from our eyes the reason for a catastrophe envelops just as frequently, when love is in question, the suddenness of certain happy solutions, such as had been brought to me by Gilberte's letter. Happy, or at least seemingly happy, for there are few that can really be happy when we are dealing with a sentiment of such a kind that any satisfaction we can give it does no more, as a rule, than dislodge some pain. And yet sometimes a respite is granted us, and we have for a little while the illusion of being healed.
To me I think Twitter is a much more honest way to really connect with your fan base without it being the horrible magazines out there that might not get the truth right. At least this gives a little bit of an honest glimpse into someone's life without it being too overdone and too personal. You get to control it, which is what I like about it.
We cannot too soon convince ourselves how easily we may be dispensed with in the world. What important personages we imagine ourselves to be! We think that we alone are the life of the circle in which we move; in our absence, we fancy that life, existence, breath will come to a general pause, and, alas, the gap which we leave is scarcely perceptible, so quickly is it filled again; nay, it is often the place, if not of something better, at least for something more agreeable.
I have often been accused of actually being 'too nice.'
God help us, ma'am! Do you see what we saw? We saw that we'd been given a law to live by, a moral law, they called it, which punished those who observed it - for observing it. The more you tried to live up to it, the more you suffered; the more you cheated it, the bigger reward you got. Your honesty was like a tool left at the mercy of the next man's dishonesty. The honest ones paid, the dishonest collected. The honest lost, the dishonest won. How long could men stay good under this sort of a law of goodness?
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