Quote Me On It

What you give to someone, when you give him or her your heart, is control over your happiness. Their moods and reactions can dictate absolutely whether you skip out of bed in the morning or are afraid to go home after work. There is no middle ground; the joy is in the surrender.

I know that no one is happy all the time, but I have learned that unhappiness can be an awful lot easier to deal with if you know you are responsible for it, and therefore responsible for changing it. It’s in my nature to focus on the negative details so that they can be fixed. The problem is that I sometimes forget to enjoy life in the meantime and just go looking for the next thing to improve upon. As much as I want that cup of tea in the morning, and all that goes with it (security and a sense of contentment, not just sugar and some toast), I am scared that my desire to make someone perfectly happy would be an impossible pursuit and the cause of much unhappiness.

Jon Richardson (via postitcat)

(via idrather-haveyou)

Source: postitcat

It doesn’t matter how greatly you’ve been hurt or how much you’re hurting, it’s what you do with the pain that counts. You could cry for years, and rightfully so, or you could choose to learn and grow from it. Take it from me: I spent years hiding in a hole, afraid to come out because of what people would think of me. But one day I decided to leave, and I ended up saving lives!

The Land Of Stories: The Wishing Spell (Chris Colfer)

(via loutomlinsoned)

Source: bradisourking

The heart is not just a lonely hunter, though it is certainly that. It is a drowning salesman, a failed clown, an incurable disease. We timid guardians pay dearly for its every decision, and are left to trade bouts of bliss for long stretches of anguish and sweet, haunted memories.

There are a lucky few, dead in certain vital places, who have managed to avoid passion’s extremes. But I am sure that you, too, have some episode in your life that lines up against this one, some mad period of transgression in which your body, your foolish, needy body led you to tender ruin. And sometimes, at night, you must lie awake and ask yourself: How could I have done this? How ever, in the world, might I have become such a fool? And how do I stop? And when? When? When will I have her again?

Steve Almond “My Life in Heavy Metal: Stories” (via workherwrites)

(via airwalker)

Source: 1and1makes2

One thing we can do is remember these heroes as you remember them—not just as a rank, or a number, or a name on a headstone, but as Americans, often far too young, who were guided by a deep and abiding love for their families, for each other, and for this country.

We can remember Jay Aubin, the pilot, who met his wife on an aircraft carrier, and told his mother before shipping out, ‘If anything happens to me, just know I’m doing what I love.’

We can remember Ryan Beaupre, the former track star, running the leadoff leg, always the first one into action, who quit his job as an accountant and joined the Marines because he wanted to do something more meaningful with his life.

We can remember Brian Kennedy, the rock climber and lacrosse fanatic, who told his father two days before his helicopter went down that the Marines he served alongside were some of the best men he’d ever dealt with, and they’d be his friends forever.

We can remember Kendall Waters-Bey, a proud father, a proud son of Baltimore, who was described by a fellow servicemember as ‘a light in a very dark world.’

And we can remember David Hickman, a freshman in high school when the war began, a fitness fanatic who half-jokingly called himself ‘Zeus,’ a loyal friend with an infectious laugh.

We can remember them. And we can meet our obligations to those who did come home, and their families who are in the midst of a different, but very real battle of their own.

President Obama at Arlington Cemetery today (via barackobama)

Source: barackobama