beautiful

No one leaves this hidden treasure,Feeling the same way they came,They always refer their friends to this Gem,This island with a beautiful name,My beautiful __im___arbados

People Die...Beauty Fades...Love Changes...And You Will Always Be Alone

Use the imagination to picture only what is good, what is beautiful, what is beneficial, what is ideal, and what you wish to realize. Mentally see yourself receiving what you deeply desire to receive. What you imagine, you will think, and what you think, you will become. Therefore, if you imagine only those things that are in harmony with what you wish to obtain or achieve, all your thinking will soon tend to produce what you want to attain or achieve.

A woman is a loving mother, a gorgeous daughter, and beautiful angel of imagination.

Imagination is a pleasant phenomenon.

We fit the pieces of our life together in a pattern,but there is no image on the puzzlebox to guide us.

Youthful life is a beautiful bliss.

One day when I ventured into the garden to regard its bloom,My eyes beheld on a bower a withered rose.When I inquired what had caused the blight,"My lips for a moment opened in a smile in this garden," it replied.

When he came home early, he was dreary. There, he'd sit by the fireplace, his worn hands gripping the newspaper a bit too tight, his eyes held to it, unseeing, towards the words, the meaningless grouping of letters on that newspaper. The fire would cackle, sizzle, full of life, so opposite to this man, whose face was crossed with the burdens of the world, and lips pressed thing under that bushy mustache. His grief sat on him like a cloud, sending him into a dimension that left his eyes two empty coals, his chest an impossible storm. He spoke to no one, and hardly did anyone speak to him, because words were never something he was good at. Then, when the sky darkened, he's stand, and trudge to his room, where his bed waited, cold and hungry, just as he'd always known it to be.

It's a sad and beautiful world.

There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.

Why shine, when there's nothing to shine on?

Sometimesthe things that make you cryare more beautifulthan the thingsthat make you laugh.

I__e created the most beautiful things out of my sadness.

I'm so ugly,_ she whispers through sobs.It throws me because that couldn't be further from the truth. __ou're beautiful,_ I tell her. __ot on the inside where it counts. My insides are dirty and ugly._ I brush her tears away and look into her eyes. __hen you don't see the parts that I do.

But something he'd come to realize on the roof, leaning out, thinking about what would happen if he leaned too far, was that a boy's life could still matter to himself.

His stories were not always new, but there was in the telling of them a special kind of magic. His voice could roll like thunder or hush down into a zepherlike whisper. He could imitate the voices of a dozen men at once; whistle so like a bird that the birds themselves would come to him to hear what he had to say; and when when he imitated the howl of a wolf, the sound could raise the hair on the backs of his listeners' necks and strike a chill into their hearts like the depths of a Drasnian winter. He could make the sound of rain and of wind and even, most miraculously, the sound of snow falling.

Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!