I'm profoundly changed. There's a bittersweet emotion that I feel from playing this role. . . . I want the world to be different because I was here. However lofty or crazy or delusional that may sound, I want people's lives to be better because I was here.
I don't want to just go to the playoffs, I don't want to go to the playoffs and win the first round, second round, and not win the whole thing because it's bittersweet.
Life at best is bittersweet.
I feel extremely lucky, extremely grateful, and a little bittersweet, too.
It's kind of bittersweet. The human spirit is not measured by the size of the act, but by the size of the heart.
There's always a bittersweet kind of thing, but I feel like everything had to work out the way it is. Everything that had to happen, happened.
It's quite highly possible that I have peaked. I mean, I just can't imagine what else I could do beyond this. It's really a bittersweet kind of feeling.
In life, there are those relationships where you really love someone, but they're just not right for you and there's a little bittersweet feel to it.
Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.
Poetry is no more a narcotic than a stimulant; it is a universal bittersweet mixture for all possible household emergencies and its action varies accordingly as it is taken in a wineglass or a tablespoon, inhaled, gargled or rubbed on the chest by hard fingers covered with rings.
My style of comedy is very real and bittersweet, and sort of always on the verge of kind of being tragic.
I'm thinking of how unexpected and yet oddly preordained life can be. Events are upon you in an instant, unforseen and without warning, and often times marked with disappointment and tragedy, but equally often leading to a better understanding of the bittersweet truth of life.
This ravishing world. This achingly bittersweet, ravishing world.
As time passes, the day will come when everything will fade to memories. But those miraculous days, when you and I, along with everyone else, searched together for just that one thing, will continue revolving forever somewhere deep in my heart, as my bittersweet memory.
The life, when we're aware of beauty, is kind of a bittersweet thing, it's a transient reminder of eternal beauty, which someday we will be face to face with.
Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
Bittersweet is kind of my own favourite style because I want to be able to cry to the same song that I also can laugh to.
There's some bittersweet feelings about leaving the people here [in the White House]. 'Cause even though all the team you assemble, you know, you're going to stay in touch with 'em, it's not the same, you know? The band kind of breaks up.
Life is bittersweet. Inside our heads, if we're lucky, we're the same kids as we were when we were young.
Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper. I didn’t want to write these pages until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones. I do not have that luxury. I am sad and angry and I want everyone to be alive again. I want more landmarks, less landmines. I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it.
Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust. Hatred alone is immortal.
Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.
If you begin to face your fears, something bittersweet is going to happen to you: You'll grow up.
The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected.
Just the other day, I was in my neighborhood Starbucks, waiting for the post office to open. I was enjoying a chocolatey cafe mocha when it occurred to me that to drink a mocha is to gulp down the entire history of the New World. From the Spanish exportation of Aztec cacao, and the Dutch invention of the chemical process for making cocoa, on down to the capitalist empire of Hershey, PA, and the lifestyle marketing of Seattle's Starbucks, the modern mocha is a bittersweet concoction of imperialism, genocide, invention, and consumerism served with whipped cream on top.
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