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Come Desire of Nations, come! Fix in us Thy humble home: Rise, the woman's conquering seed, Bruise in us the serpent's head. Adam's likeness now efface, Stamp Thine image in its place: Second Adam from above, Reinstate us in Thy love. Hark! The herald angels sing, "Glory to the newborn King!"
Charles Wesley
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someone wonderful just posted this. had to share.
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Friendship requires that rare mean betwixt likeness and unlikeness, that piques each with the presence of power and of consent in the other party. Let me be alone to the end of the world, rather than that my friend should overstep, by a word or a look, his real sympathy. I am equally balked by antagonism and by compliance. Let him not cease an instant to be himself. The only joy I have in his being mine, is that the not mine is mine. I hate, where I looked for a manly furtherance, or at least a manly resistance, to find a mush of concession. Better be a nettle in the side of your friend than his echo. The condition which high friendship demands is ability to do without it. That high office requires great and sublime parts. There must be very two, before there can be very one. Let it be an alliance of two large, formidable natures, mutually beheld, mutually feared, before yet they recognize the deep identity which beneath these disparities unites them.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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I love it when young men eroticize themselves, and like Narcissus, are entrapped by their own reflection. Like: "Oh my God. I look so sexy right now."
Jean Touitou
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Knock and the door shall be open unto you. ...and if it doesn't, kick down the fucking door.
Jesus (if he were a little more badass)
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In this Sargasso Sea of fantasy and fraud, how can I or anyone else hope to swim unencumbered? How can I learn to see with, and not just through, the eye? How can I take off my own motley, wash away the makeup, raise the iron shutter, put out the studio lights, silence the sound effects, and put the cameras to sleep? Can I ever watch the sun rise on Sunset Boulevard, and the sun set over Forest Lawn?
Will I ever find real furniture among the studio props, silence in a discotheque, love in a strip tease? Read truth off an auto cue, catch it on a screen, chase it on the wings of muzak? View it in living color with the news, hear it in living sound along the motorways? No, not in the wind that rent the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks; not in the earthquake that followed, nor in the fire that followed the earthquake. I think I could probably hear it in that still, small voice. Not in the screeching of tires, either, or in the grinding of brakes; nor in the roar of jets or the whistle of sirens, or the howl of trombones, or the rattle of drums, or the chanting of demo voices. Again and again and again. I long for that still, small voice – if one could only catch it.
The voice of truth.
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Manny praying after his first fight with Timothy Bradley. Manny is hands down my favorite athlete not just because I'm Filipino and a boxer but because of his humility.
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