Be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else.
For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.
Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay-- Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.
I carry a lot of scars. I like the way that sounds. I carry a lot of scars.