Contrary to what you might think, it is hate, not love, that makes the world go around.
The story began in July 1923 in Brooklyn, NY. A boy named Leonardo was born to a Sicilian father, Carmelo, and Italian mother, Rose. "Leo," as he was called, was later joined by six sisters and one brother.
I'm a firm believer that what's normal in a relationship is what's normal to the couple. If both people's needs are being expressed and met, it's tough for anyone to judge what's happening behind closed doors.
It started with a chance meeting: Richard Donohue Long, a tall, good-looking American soldier from Syracuse, New York, walked down a village street in France, just as Leone Sicre threw open a pair of wooden shutters to shake out a duvet cover. He ducked; she slammed the shutters closed.
I mean, really, what woman is going to be good enough for my son? And if there is such a woman, is she going to love him as unconditionally as I do? I shudder at the thought, which is crazy, because I'm trying to put a nice gentleman into the world, not a neurotic momma's boy.
I am a cynical cliché of a man. And, like most misanthropes, what has fueled my pessimism -- ironically -- is my optimism. When you go through life expecting intelligence, honesty and fairness, but you get the Tea Party, McSalads, and Prop 8... you tend to become a bitter grump.
until our eyes meet again, dearest mother, until I am where you are -- above, beyond and over the clouds -- until then, know your heart beats in mine.
I am no expert at love at all but I do feel that love comprises of many other things -- firstly, acceptance of the other person is key; secondly, I think genuine concern for this person's well-being; third, would be to trust and be loyal; and the last thing would be to be best friends forever.
May our own pursuit of racial justice and reconciliation begin with the death of the dishonesty in our own hearts and conclude in our own resurrection with the wild diversity of the people of God.
I'm a big believer in finding a good match, and that certain things, like mutual attraction and a shared sense of humor, can't be forced. But in that search for a partner, new research suggests we shouldn't get too mesmerized by this idea of "the one."
The friend who gave me the book knew that I had been investigating and writing about the phenomenology of traumatic loss since the death of my late wife in February of 1991 shattered my world.
You are not alone in these places. Other people feel how you feel. You are more than just your pain. You are more than wounds, more than drugs, more than death and silence.
I looked toward the source of the irritating sound. A woman, who was busy listening to something on her laptop, earphones clamped to her head, sat in the chair beside me. I hope she has a tissue, I thought. I hope she blows her nose.
My dear readers, Denial is not a river in Egypt. What will it take to wake up? Or have we allowed ourselves to be so disempowered that we have thrown in the towel? If so, is self destruction imminent? I would hope not.
True love-ability is an attitude. It's a way of being. It's the way you show up in the world. And because it's not based on the reactions of others, it is the deepest security, created from the only thing in life you can totally control, i.e. your own spirit.