Determination gives you the resolve to keep going in spite of the roadblocks that lay before you.
If God can use a man without arms and legs to be His hands and feet, then He will certainly use any willing heart!
I honestly didn't think miracles could ever come from my broken pieces, and I was disabled in fear that my dreams would always remain as dreams. Don't give up on you. Don't give up on God. Don't give up on love.
Don't GIVE UP. And know that there is always someone out there who believes in you and who loves you JUST THE WAY THAT YOU ARE.
I am gonna try again and again, because the moment I give up, is the moment I fail.
I know for certain that God does not make mistakes, but he does make miracles. I am one. You are, too.
People always complain that they can't do this and they can't do that. " "If we look at our lives and concentrate on things that we don't have or wish to have, that doesn't change the circumstances. The truth is that we have to focus on what we have and make the best out of it.
I love listening to music with my mate. We don't do it often, but when we do we'll just sit there and lose our heads in it. Sooner or later he'll start saying something to the effect of "Hey, Thom, can you put in something else now?" but I'll just nod coldly and respond "not just yet". But after awhile, I'll finally budge. And that's when I crack a big smile and take out The Bends and put in Kid A. My friend just sighs and leaves the room, and I can't blame him. He's not ready for that leap yet.
This, then, is the ultimate, that is only, consolation: simply that someone shares some of your own feelings and has made of these a work of art which you have the insight, sensitivity, and — like it or not — peculiar set of experiences to appreciate. Amazing thing to say, the consolation of horror in art is that it actually intensifies our panic, loudens it on the sounding-board of our horror-hollowed hearts, turns terror up full blast, all the while reaching for that perfect and deafening amplitude at which we may dance to the bizarre music of our own misery.
"Stupid English. " "English isn't stupid," I say. "Well, my English teacher is. " He makes a face. "Mr. Franklin assigned an essay about our favorite subject, and I wanted to write about lunch, but he won't let me. " "Why not?" "He says lunch isn't a subject. " I glance at him. "It isn't. " "Well," Jacob says, "it's not a predicate, either. Shouldn't he know that?"
I try not to focus on what people say too much because there's nothing I can do about it. All I can do is focus on staying true to the style of music I write and sing because that is the only way it's going to come off as honest.