Milletin Agzina Quotes & Sayings

Poetry is the sister of Sorrow. Every man that suffers and weeps is a poet; every tear is a verse, and every heart a poem. — Marc-Andre Fleury

Studies show that in a phenomenon called "emotional contagion," we unconsciously catch emotions from other people
whether good moods or bad ones. Taking the time to be silly means that we're infecting one another with good cheer, and people who enjoy silliness are one third more likely to be happy. — Gretchen Rubin

Such is life. We grow up. Planets like Tiny get new moons. Moons like me get new planets. — John Green

Did John fuck you up with relationships?" Tom asked now. "I don't know, T. I never really thought about it." "But he was your first, last, and only one, right?" "Yeah, he was." Much in the way Remy's dad was Tommy's. — S.E. Jakes

Siddhartha saw it hurrying, the river, which consisted of him and his loved ones and of all people, he had ever seen, all of these waves and waters were hurrying, suffering, towards goals, many goals, the waterfall, the lake, the rapids, the sea, and all goals were reached, and every goal was followed by a new one, and the water turned into vapour and rose to the sky, turned into rain and poured down from the sky, turned into a source, a stream, a river, headed forward once again, flowed on once again. — Hermann Hesse

Your pretty college boy isn't so pretty anymore."
"He isn't my pretty college boy."
Our gazes locked.
"But I still think he's pretty pretty," I said, just to antagonize him.
See you in bed with him like I saw in the Silvers, I'll kill him.
I blinked. I did not just see that in Barrons' eyes. — Karen Marie Moning

Oh, a wan cloud was drawn o'er the dim weeping dawn

As to Josie's side I returned at last,

And the heart in my breast for the girl I lov'd best

Was beating, ah, beating, how loud and fast!

While the doubts and the fears of the long aching years

Seem'd mingling their voices with the moaning flood:

Till full in my path, like a wild water wraith,

My true love's shadow lamenting stood.

But the sudden sun kiss'd the cold, cruel mist

Into dancing show'rs of diamond dew,

And the dark flowing stream laugh'd back to his beam,

And the lark soared aloft in the blue:

While no phantom of night but a form of delight

Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy,

And the girl I love best on my wild throbbing breast

Hid her thousand treasures with cry of joy. — Amy Harmon