A woman gets stretch marks from one of two things. Either she was big and got small or she was small and got big.
Prudence says one thing, desire says another, and I'd rather go with desire any time.
Youth gives a sense of new days dawning bright, going on for ever, and a kind of tamped-down excitement which keeps breaking through even the worst days of poverty, depression and loneliness. But then youth is something which only exists in retrospect; you are barely conscious of it while you have it.
People hear what they want and expect to hear, not what is said.
If infinity is as they describe it, all things are not just possible but in the end certain.
The desire for self-expression afflicts people when they feel there is something of themselves which is not getting through to the outside world.
When today's young woman says she isn't a feminist what she means is she isn't a lesbian and she doesn't hate men, she likes to wear make-up and she enjoys a laugh. In which she is no different from many an early feminist.
Awe consumes any brand that ignites it.
Our Saviour would love at no less rate than death; and from the supereminent height of glory, stooped and debased Himself to the sufferance of the extremest of indignities, and sunk himself to the bottom of abjectness, to exalt our condition to the contrary extreme.
I want to know where joy lives. I'd interview scientists, religious leaders and heads of state. I'd want to find out exactly what makes people happy. I'd want to look into the biology, the chemistry of the human brain.
If you want it and believe you can have it, you will.