Our CrossOur little circle hides in the mind,It's difficult to miss but hard to find,It goes unspoken but yet it speaks,From backward years to forward weeks,We can't forget but why even try,Two of a kind doesn't know goodbye,It's a silent question that God won't share,A breeze we feel but seems unfair,Distant, rare but only madness can see,It's something deeper than any infinity,Because we walk this parallel path up and down,There is no circle to hold us circus clowns,So let's give it a symbol and label it a loss,We will remember it always as we carry our cross.

Normal people live distracted, rarely fully present. Weird people silence the distractions and remain fully in the moment.

Shame on the misguided, the blinded, the distracted and the divided. Shame. You have allowed deceptive men to corrupt and desensitize your hearts and minds to unethically fuel their greed.

I know an alcoholic is the worse, but sometimes I wonder if it's better to have a drinking father that lives at home, or a drinking father, that never comes around.

People who are distracted by door money, neglect the production and the audience. Money becomes their god. They sacrifice their reputation in favor of building revenue. Believe me; the former is more difficult to recover if lost.

Welhewan is charming us,' Sasha says in an unsure voice. 'It is trying to soothe us with its lullaby. Do not let yourself . . . Oh, a butterfly. Look how beautiful it is! No, don't look. The forest is making us happy, and we cannot let it.

How might it feel to be fully present in every moment all of the time?

Have you ever had a dream so strong it slapped you in the face every time you looked away?

People won't admit it, they're too busy grabbing to see that the lights have fused. They can't see the darkness and the spider-face beyond and the great web of it all. That there's always this if you scratch at the surface of happiness and goodness.The black and the black and the black.

One of the major destruction of man is distraction

She usually worked at night, claiming that the racket he made about the house distracted her during the day; she needed silence, total silence, in which to pursue her inspiration - else it fled away and left her with a splitting headache to show for it.

She told me she loved me. She told me a lot of things. Some of those things were true, and some of those may or may not have been true. It’s kind of hard to tell, because to be honest, I wasn’t listening.

He could’ve penned a rendition of Moby Dick in Pig Latin and he wouldn’t have been the wiser.

When at a crossroads, my father was fond of saying “go with your gut.” “Intuition,” he said, “always has our best interests at heart.” It is a voice that can tell us who is friend and who is foe…Which ones to hold at arm’s length…And which ones to keep close. But too often, we become distracted by fear, doubt, our own stubborn hopes, and refuse to listen.

Whenever Percy stopped by to see [Annabeth], she was so lost in thought that the conversation went something like this:Percy: 'Hey, how's it going?'Annabeth: 'Uh, no thanks.'Percy: 'Okay...have you eaten anything today?'Annabeth: 'I think Leo is on duty. Ask him.'Percy: 'So, my hair is on fire.'Annabeth: 'Okay, in a while.