“The most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention. A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well-intentioned words.”—Rachel Naomi Remen (via fourteendrawings)
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
“I firmly believe that the moment our hearts are emptied of selfishness and ambition and self-seeking and everything that is contrary to God’s law, the Holy Spirit will come and fill every corner of our hearts; but if we are full of pride and conceit, ambition and self-seeking, pleasure and the world, there is no room for the Spirit of God. I also believe that many a man is praying to God to fill him, when he is full already with something else. Before we pray that God would fill us, I believe we ought to pray that He would empty us. There must be an emptying before there can be a filling; and when the heart is turned upside down, and everything that is contrary to God is turned out, then the Spirit will come…”—D.L Moody (via jieru)
“There is another great “revealing” in our life on the road. We run our race, we travel our journey, in the words of Hebrews, before “a great cloud of witnesses” (12:1). When we face a decision to fall back or press on, the whole universe holds its breath—angels, demons, our friends and foes, and…
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”—Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken (via thechurchreptile)
“Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.”—David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary (via thatkindofwoman)
“People don’t like love, they like that flittery flirty feeling. They don’t love love - love is sacrificial, love is ferocious, it’s not emotive. Our culture doesn’t love love, it loves the idea of love. It wants the emotion without paying anything for it. It’s ridiculous.”—Matt Chandler (via thatkindofwoman)
“What she should have been asking herself, she thought, was not whether she was attractive to anyone or whether they hated her, but whether, at this stage in her life, she wanted anyone to be attracted to her at all”—Sam Byers, Idiopathy: A Novel (via thatkindofwoman)
“In 1926, in colonial India, a teenage girl involved in the resistance movement failed to carry out an order to kill. Instead, she chose to take her own life, perhaps as a public protest. Before she went through with her mission, she awaited her period to make sure that no one would claim that she had killed herself for other reasons. Nonetheless, despite her precaution, the official and accepted story is that she killed herself because of an unwanted pregnancy (despite the fact that her menstruation was known in the household at the time). Spivak’s point here is that a subaltern cannot speak; it can act, but it will not be recognised. The Indian girl could have taken as many precautions as she wished, but as a subaltern (as woman in a patriarchal ideology and as a colonial subject) her actions would never be recognised as intended. Spivak is quite rigid on this matter; a subaltern is always silent; if a voice is recognised, it has ceased to be subaltern. It is a matter of power relations between colonial interests versus the interests of the subjected.”—