Yang Gui-ja quotes

Nothing poisons love more than honesty. If love lasts until the day we die, we will live without showing our real self to our beloved until the day we die. Love makes us more beautiful and distorts us. Love takes our impulse to lie to an extreme.
-- Yang Gui-ja

#Beautiful #Honesty #Lying

How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play; How heaven laughs out with glee Where, like a bird set free, Up from the eastern sea Soars the delightful day. To-day I shall be strong, No more shall yield to wrong, Shall squander life no more; Days lost, I know not how, I shall retrieve them now; Now I shall keep the vow I never kept before. Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away; Past touch and sight and sound Not further to be found, How hopeless under ground Falls the remorseful day.

Not knowing all of the conventions of beauty, he [Tom Thomson] found it all beautiful.

I know that people think I'm sexy and I am looked at as that. It is cool with me. It's wonderful to have sexy appeal. If you embrace it, it can be a very beautiful thing.

The most beautiful fate, the most wonderful good fortune that can happen to any human being, is to be paid for doing that which he passionately loves to do.

I'm not a handsome guy, but I can give my hand to someone who needs help. Beauty is in the heart, not in the face.

Important principles may, and must, be inflexible.

I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live up to what light I have.

The thing that I think a lot of guys need to know how to do is not take your mothers advice about honesty being the best policy. Listen to your cool, drunk uncle who tells you to lie. Those are the relationships that last.

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover; Breath's aware that will not keep. Up, lad: when the journey's over then there'll be time enough to sleep.

Do I do as false prophets do and puff air into simulacra? Am I a Sorcerer--like Macbeth's witches--mixing truth and lies in incandescent shapes? Or am I a kind of very minor scribe of a prophetic Book--telling such truth as in me lies, with aid of such fiction as I acknowledge mine, as Prospero acknowledged Caliban.