I don't feel any pressure from fans. But I'm always in some kind of state of emotional turmoil. I would not describe myself as happy-go-lucky. That's not to say that I'm not happy.
Paul SimonRead
And she said 'Losing love is like a window in your heart,_x000D_ _x000D_ Everybody sees you're blown apart,_x000D_ _x000D_ Everybody feels the wind blow.'
Interpretation
The experience of losing love is deeply visible and felt by both the individual and those around them.
This quote expresses the profound emotional pain associated with losing love, using the metaphor of a broken window to convey how heartbreak is not only a private suffering but also apparent to others. It suggests that love's absence creates an openness to vulnerability and sorrow, as though the heart is exposed to the harsh elements of life, impacting both the individual and their surroundings.
In practice
In a discussion about heartbreak during a relationship support group.
I don't feel any pressure from fans. But I'm always in some kind of state of emotional turmoil. I would not describe myself as happy-go-lucky. That's not to say that I'm not happy.
I sort of recognize it, as opposed to shaping it. Oh, that's a good idea, that's a good line. I wonder where I can use that. And when you get into a rhyme group like 'not,' you got a lot of rhymes, you got a lot of choices. The more you do it, the luckier you get.
I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told, and I have squandered my resistance, for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises. All lies in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lala-la-la-la-la...
Who's gonna love you when your looks are gone?
I don't believe what the papers are saying They're just out to capture my dime, Exaggerating this, exaggerating that.
Improvisation is too good to leave to chance.
He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.
Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
You are adorable, mademoiselle. I study your feet with the microscope and your soul with the telescope.
There is only one good thing in life, and that is love. And how you misunderstand it! how you spoil it! You treat it as something solemn like a sacrament, or something to be bought, like a dress.
I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones.
To love! To surrender absolutely, to prostrate oneself before the divine image, to die a thousand imaginary deaths, to annihilate every trace of self, to find the whole universe embodied and enshrined in the living image of another! Adolescent, we say. Rot! This is the germ of the future life, the seed which we hide away, which we bury deep within us, which we smother and stifle and do our utmost to destroy as we advance from one experience to another and flutter and flounder and lose our way.
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