that i don’t need anyone’s approval for the way i do things.
If anybody thinks it’s weird, please don’t do it.
find your own way that fits and uses that something which makes you different, to get through life.
I’m sincere to the best of my knowledge and i don’t need anyone to check all the little ticks of conventionality.
I’m feeling sorry for those who cower in fear of what is normal and what is not.
there’s no need to put up a tough front if we’re really tough. Only the strong dare to appear weak.
Trying to appear tough and bad only shows how vulnerable we’re and frankly, it’s really funny to me.
think about it because this is for life.
when you’re in the middle of it, it seems really a huge deal. step outside and what happens? it’s not that big at all. in fact, it’s small.
How you make others feel about themselves says a lot about you.
“If you understand something in only one way, then you don’t really understand it at all. The secret of what anything means to us depends on how we’ve connected it to all other things we know. Well-connected representations let you turn ideas around in your mind, to envision things from many perspectives until you find one that works for you. And that’s what we mean by thinking!”
When you only do, It’s mindless.
When you only think, it’s in vain.
When you do first, and then think, you are learning.
When you Think first and then do, you are planning.
When you are doing, you cannot think.
When you are thinking, you cannot do.
When you’re being, you’ve done both.
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar