It's so rare that I'll read or even watch an interview. I don't want to, either. I don't want to see other people's comments.
If you're dedicated to something and you put the time in, why should anyone have an opinion on it? Halif of the people who comment about women's boxing don't even watch it.
I like the fact that a lot of people get to hear the music and I love performing with people cheering you on and you're feeling the love for what you're doing, but there's also the other side where if you give away as much personal information as I do it's hard not to take it personally when people are saying mean things about you. But I try not to read any comments. Right now I'm just feeling a lot of love.
The people I grew up around who I really liked were quick on the draw. It always just wowed me. And my mum would make weird funny comments. I can see in myself her self-deprecating, hippie humour. I can't take myself too seriously.
I used to not be confident. My father certainly didn't add to my confidence. When I was 17 or 18, I was voted the most beautiful girl in England by the association of press photographers. When they called Daddy for a comment, he said, 'I'm amazed. She's a nice looking girl, but nothing special.'
Since I was there in the very beginning, I know the history of the characters. So, I make comments about the tone and sometimes remind the writers that we've done that before.
We're not going to pay attention to the silliness and the petty comments. And quite frankly, women have joined me in this effort, and so it's not about appearances. It's about effectiveness.
I try not to read blogs. The comments are extremely harsh.
A lady likes to be complimented on her looks, her eyes, her figure. But the personality comments are much appreciated.
Here is why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never deflect the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. ...I beg of you, pretend you are a dog like me and LISTEN to other people rather than steal their stories.
The story of the Zen Master whose only response was always "Is that so?" shows the good that comes through inner nonresistance to events, that is to say, being at one with what happens. The story of the man whose comment was invariably a laconic "Maybe" illustrates the wisdom of nonjudgment, and the story of the ring points to the fact of impermanence which, when recognized, leads to nonattachment. Nonresistance, nonjudgement, and nonattachment are the three aspects of true freedom and enlightened living.
Theres no such thing as vampire mojo,"said Jace,rather eeirly echoing Clarys earlier comment."And I was following Clary,but then she got into a cab,and I cant follow a cab.So I doubled back and followed you instead.Mostly for something to do" "You were following Clary?"Simon echoed."Heres a hot tip : Most girls dont like being stalked
I thought she'd make some comment about the bloodthirsty gods chasing us, but when she finally found her voice, she said, "That boy kissed you!" Leave it to Liz to have her priorities straight.
Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.
It's a sad comment on humans that none of them are tolerable to one who can read their minds
The observations and encounters of a devotee of solitude and silence are at once less distinct and more penetrating than those of the sociable man; his thoughts are weightier, stranger, and never without a tinge of sadness. Images and perceptions which might otherwise be easily dispelled by a glance, a laugh, an exchange of comments, concern him unduly, they sink into mute depths, take on significance, become experiences, adventures, emotions.
little life lesson 23: before making a snide comment about someone else's outfit, check to see if you're wearing knee boots with fringe. if you answer yes, drop it. just do.
We are all too often told by someone that we are too old, too young, too different, too much the same, and those comments can be devastating.
He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.
In the beginning I remember when I would spend three hours a day on MySpace just trying to comment everyone back, and now, I spend a half hour a night on MySpace just putting up new stuff and answering people back and monitoring all the fan sites, and saying hi and thank you. I'm still way on top of it. I haven't grown out of it because it'll always be something that helped launch my career, and I'm going to keep maintaining it.
Adrian gave the picture a nod of approval before handing me the phone. "Okay, even I can admit that's pretty cute." I found myself overanalyzing the comment. What had he meant in saying 'even he' could admit it? That I was cute for a human? Or that I had just met some kind of Adrian hot-girl criteria?
Roy received my comments with a forced smile. "Hardy, didn't I warn you not to date a woman who reads?" Hardy seemed amused by my outspokenness. "Keeps the arguing to a minimum," he replied. "No point in trying when I know she's going to win.
What is this Chocho business?' Will muttered to himself. But his friends overheard the comment. 'It's a term of great respect,' they chorused, and he glared at them. 'Oh, shut up,' he said.
Harry Potter isn’t real? Oh no! Wait, wait, what do you mean by real? Is this video blog real? Am I real if you can see me and hear me, but only through the internet? Are you real if I can read your comment but I don’t know who you are or what your name is or where you’re from or what you look like or how old you are? I know all of those things about Harry Potter. Maybe Harry Potter’s real and you’re not.
Finally, if you will permit me, I'd like to make a comment which in my mind, is indicative, perhaps, of the greater significance of football and sports emphasis in general in this country, and that is, I thank God I was warring on the gridirons of the Midwest and not on the battlefields of Europe. I can speak confidently and positively that the players of this country would much more, much rather, struggle and fight to win the Heisman award than the Croix de guerre.
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