Fuck. everything in my life has come back to sentiment lately. I miss her, but i hate that she misses her, too. I can’t dance with her because of sentiment. I can’t watch certain movies with her. it all goes back to her eventually. All of the sentiment. I fucking hate sentiment sometimes; though I’d like to be the only one who utilizes it in the whole world.
He looks at me like a hunter, craving blood and yearning death. I look at him like I’m starring down the barrel of a gun, all stillness and fright. Somewhere in between, there is love.
“Babe, don’t go getting all sentimental on me…” David said, rolling his eyes although a smile touched his lips. Tears fell down my cheeks as I looked at the small locket inside of the box he’d given me a minute ago. My Grandmother’s locket, the one I thought I’d lost all those years ago. He’d found it, so I had a right to cry my eyes out. I thought I’d never see it again.
“Thank you,” I sniffled and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”
what do you do with it? put it in a nice little jar, light a candle for it, fondle it, watch it with eyes full of tears, what a nice pet, what a nice flower, dried up, hung to the ceiling never to be forgotten until it withers to a dustbunny, a pile of memories messing up your precious floor
She was speaking to her friend after making a hospital visit. When talking about her husband who was the patient she completely understood her sentiment.
Le sentiment put etre ressenti par tous. Il peu etre beau comme il peut vous detruire. Seul celui qui le ressent en connait la force. Il est souvent dure de decrire le sentiment quon ressent. On ne trouve pas les mots on le ressent cest tout.
“Bosh,” said Lionel. “All violets and starlight and sentiment. That’s no way to address a lady when you’ve got matrimony in mind. Give her some hard facts: your bank balance, your annual income, the number of properties you own. That is, if she’s got anything similar to offer in return.”
Exactly. When you look deep into the eyes of another and know exactly that place beyond words where you both reside. Pollute it with words, with definitions, with preconceived notions of this and that. Or, just say “My sentiments…”
It was an empty sentiment, too late to be granted any meaning. She needed this before, but now…since everything that had happened…no. She wouldn’t fall for it again. A last ditch attempt to reconcile: an act of desperation in the hope that she would forgive him. And she would have done had it not been for his latest betrayal, the discovery of which finally cleared her eyes of the mist of attachment that had shrouded them for he past three years. How could she have been so stupid?
sentiment this is something that I don’t’ think of myself having a lot of but am discovering i do . I spend my life in a sentimental state. Everyithing I think of I attach to an emotion or and emotion to it. I rarely just see the truth. It make me pine for things that may not matter.
People go on about sentiment as if it matters.
I don’t grieve, I don’t want to invite my family to things I throw for friends. I don’t want to personally write thank you notes. I don’t like these people.
Everything went well during the official procession at the funeral, and received our blessings. However it was the sentiment expressed by one of the speakers that brought swift condemnation from all those in the audience.
My midwest wife left her mother to be by my side and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her momma would treat her better. A relationship full of sentiments or lies.
sentiment is what separates us from animals. Where they act on instincts, we act on reason and often emotions, not always that rational, but then again, who would want to be without it?
A mind overfertilized and waiting for seeds. Follow the time-delay, an unnatural profusion. Alcoholic flowers and dizzy bees. Last year’s sediment, new fuel for this year’s sentiment.
I held the photo in my hand, turning and examining it. The corners were ripped, the colors faded. I could no longer tell what color dress I was wearing or see how bright her smile once was. I smiled, then set the photo down. Sentiment. Sentiment was all this was.
Thinking about it, she has had the thing since she was a chubby, babbling toddler. At the local store, she had begged her father with nonsensical whines and tugs to buy the pale, wide-eyed stuffed rabbit and shrieked when he had initially refused. When she brought him, the rabbit, home, her mother thought it was wrong for her to name the toy ‘Puppy’. There was a talk about a species difference, a vague mentioning of bunnies and something else about the food chain. However, she would have none of that. Puppy had the perfect ring to it, and she knew that the glass eyes sparkled even more when she called it that.
Now, looking at the aged, worn ‘Puppy’ that lay at the bottom of her shelf brought back a sentiment of nostalgia and little bit of longing. She sighed, she chuckled, and ran through the matted fur once again.
“It’s a miracle that you’re still with me, Puppy, when everyone else has left.”
I don’t want feelings for the past. It’s over, done, closed and boarded up, covered by the dust of how things were supposed to turn out. I turn the photo around in my hands, releasing it. It rests on the floor, daring me to look. I don’t want to remember how perfect things were, when we were a family, it only make me miss them more.
I bounced off the walkway like a smashed, flattened tennis ball and fell to the side like an unwanted, scrapped steel beam. Refocusing my mind, I realized this wasn’t as bad as it felt. A #sentiment of relief took over. I climbed to my feat, looked around and found a clear path through the field of wondering elephants. #OneWord #OzNolem
What value was this bunny to her? What did it have to do with her future? Her present? All it was now…It was the sentiment of her past. It was the carrier that held whatever was left of a childhood’s dream. It was a long forgotten wish. It was the tired, sad whisper of a voice that used to be her friend.
“I don’t know why you get attached to such stupid objects. Doesn’t make sense at all.” Aunt Kelly slammed the necklace down on the table.
“It was my grandmother’s.” She looked at me weirdly. “My dead grandmother.”
A mentality that is impossible to fully grasp, a dark word, a light word, a loud word and a quiet. Sentimentality. Something we hide from, we fear. We are not human….but then neither are the people who do…
Her last sentiment was one of revenge. On her deathbed, she lay, panting and grasping the sheets with curled, claw-like fingers. Her eyes, glazed with longing and realization, glided over the six people in the room with her: her husband, her lover, her best friend, her mother, the nurse, and her son. With her dying breath, she murmured, “For poisoning me, Donny, you get nothing from me.” Her son lunged for her throat as her eyes closed.
Sentiment
a disgusting word that shows affection, love and or compassion. I dislike the word.
Fuck. everything in my life has come back to sentiment lately. I miss her, but i hate that she misses her, too. I can’t dance with her because of sentiment. I can’t watch certain movies with her. it all goes back to her eventually. All of the sentiment. I fucking hate sentiment sometimes; though I’d like to be the only one who utilizes it in the whole world.
My sentiment is that if you don’t do things when they should be done, you forget, and then you don’t it properly.
sentiment. one word means a world. emotion and feeling
He looks at me like a hunter, craving blood and yearning death. I look at him like I’m starring down the barrel of a gun, all stillness and fright. Somewhere in between, there is love.
When one says they are sorry, it is a good sentiment. But until they truly show they are, it is hard to believe.
“Babe, don’t go getting all sentimental on me…” David said, rolling his eyes although a smile touched his lips. Tears fell down my cheeks as I looked at the small locket inside of the box he’d given me a minute ago. My Grandmother’s locket, the one I thought I’d lost all those years ago. He’d found it, so I had a right to cry my eyes out. I thought I’d never see it again.
“Thank you,” I sniffled and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”
what do you do with it? put it in a nice little jar, light a candle for it, fondle it, watch it with eyes full of tears, what a nice pet, what a nice flower, dried up, hung to the ceiling never to be forgotten until it withers to a dustbunny, a pile of memories messing up your precious floor
She was speaking to her friend after making a hospital visit. When talking about her husband who was the patient she completely understood her sentiment.
Le sentiment put etre ressenti par tous. Il peu etre beau comme il peut vous detruire. Seul celui qui le ressent en connait la force. Il est souvent dure de decrire le sentiment quon ressent. On ne trouve pas les mots on le ressent cest tout.
“Bosh,” said Lionel. “All violets and starlight and sentiment. That’s no way to address a lady when you’ve got matrimony in mind. Give her some hard facts: your bank balance, your annual income, the number of properties you own. That is, if she’s got anything similar to offer in return.”
Exactly. When you look deep into the eyes of another and know exactly that place beyond words where you both reside. Pollute it with words, with definitions, with preconceived notions of this and that. Or, just say “My sentiments…”
It was an empty sentiment, too late to be granted any meaning. She needed this before, but now…since everything that had happened…no. She wouldn’t fall for it again. A last ditch attempt to reconcile: an act of desperation in the hope that she would forgive him. And she would have done had it not been for his latest betrayal, the discovery of which finally cleared her eyes of the mist of attachment that had shrouded them for he past three years. How could she have been so stupid?
Gentleness, intentional emotion based on the moment’s experience. Sadness, kindness, a feeling completely yours, but not understood by outsiders.
sentiment this is something that I don’t’ think of myself having a lot of but am discovering i do . I spend my life in a sentimental state. Everyithing I think of I attach to an emotion or and emotion to it. I rarely just see the truth. It make me pine for things that may not matter.
People go on about sentiment as if it matters.
I don’t grieve, I don’t want to invite my family to things I throw for friends. I don’t want to personally write thank you notes. I don’t like these people.
Everything went well during the official procession at the funeral, and received our blessings. However it was the sentiment expressed by one of the speakers that brought swift condemnation from all those in the audience.
My midwest wife left her mother to be by my side and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her momma would treat her better. A relationship full of sentiments or lies.
sensual
senses
second
serenity
hello
garrison
revolution
recollection
destruction
ambiguity
space
time
a few
sentiment is what separates us from animals. Where they act on instincts, we act on reason and often emotions, not always that rational, but then again, who would want to be without it?
A mind overfertilized and waiting for seeds. Follow the time-delay, an unnatural profusion. Alcoholic flowers and dizzy bees. Last year’s sediment, new fuel for this year’s sentiment.
I held the photo in my hand, turning and examining it. The corners were ripped, the colors faded. I could no longer tell what color dress I was wearing or see how bright her smile once was. I smiled, then set the photo down. Sentiment. Sentiment was all this was.
I haven’t got it left in me I have lost the sentiment, and the feeling. These pictures, like the memories of ghosts, dredged up only sorrow.
Thinking about it, she has had the thing since she was a chubby, babbling toddler. At the local store, she had begged her father with nonsensical whines and tugs to buy the pale, wide-eyed stuffed rabbit and shrieked when he had initially refused. When she brought him, the rabbit, home, her mother thought it was wrong for her to name the toy ‘Puppy’. There was a talk about a species difference, a vague mentioning of bunnies and something else about the food chain. However, she would have none of that. Puppy had the perfect ring to it, and she knew that the glass eyes sparkled even more when she called it that.
Now, looking at the aged, worn ‘Puppy’ that lay at the bottom of her shelf brought back a sentiment of nostalgia and little bit of longing. She sighed, she chuckled, and ran through the matted fur once again.
“It’s a miracle that you’re still with me, Puppy, when everyone else has left.”
I don’t want feelings for the past. It’s over, done, closed and boarded up, covered by the dust of how things were supposed to turn out. I turn the photo around in my hands, releasing it. It rests on the floor, daring me to look. I don’t want to remember how perfect things were, when we were a family, it only make me miss them more.
I bounced off the walkway like a smashed, flattened tennis ball and fell to the side like an unwanted, scrapped steel beam. Refocusing my mind, I realized this wasn’t as bad as it felt. A #sentiment of relief took over. I climbed to my feat, looked around and found a clear path through the field of wondering elephants. #OneWord #OzNolem
What value was this bunny to her? What did it have to do with her future? Her present? All it was now…It was the sentiment of her past. It was the carrier that held whatever was left of a childhood’s dream. It was a long forgotten wish. It was the tired, sad whisper of a voice that used to be her friend.
Sentiment is crippling. Margaret was sure she’d be better off avoiding it entirely, and that was that, as far as she was concerned.
“I don’t know why you get attached to such stupid objects. Doesn’t make sense at all.” Aunt Kelly slammed the necklace down on the table.
“It was my grandmother’s.” She looked at me weirdly. “My dead grandmother.”
A mentality that is impossible to fully grasp, a dark word, a light word, a loud word and a quiet. Sentimentality. Something we hide from, we fear. We are not human….but then neither are the people who do…
Sentiment. Fake or real? Hard to tell sometimes.
Her last sentiment was one of revenge. On her deathbed, she lay, panting and grasping the sheets with curled, claw-like fingers. Her eyes, glazed with longing and realization, glided over the six people in the room with her: her husband, her lover, her best friend, her mother, the nurse, and her son. With her dying breath, she murmured, “For poisoning me, Donny, you get nothing from me.” Her son lunged for her throat as her eyes closed.
Lately she’s been all simpering sentiment—with watery eyes and a quiet, strained voice that only repeats variations of “It’s what he would’ve wanted.”