A man who places himself above others does not benefit society. Selfish, self-centered men are borne out of focusing on his self. What a man does for himself will shape the man.
He care for himself as much as his one hundred year old bones could do. He could only fend for himself for he had no one else to look out for him. He should have been more charitable when he was younger.
he is so full of himself he thinks that whatever little trick he trys I am going to fall for still. you love yourself enough for everyone I use to tell him.
Himself is just another ordinary word. I dont know why writing about so hard. I dont really want it to be hard. God! This is frustrating. And annoying. Himself himself himself – NOTHING OF ANY IMPORTANCE THAT COMES INTO MY MIND.
He climbed up the stair, one foot and the other. Hands steady. Holding tight. He knew how to do this. He reached for the next and the next and the next. He climbed up and down twenty-six times, just so he could show me. He could do it, by himself. For the first time since the stroke, my father could walk up and down the stairs, himself.
He didn’t know himself. I thought I could learn: his topography, his character, his internal self. I couldn’t, of course. I was naive. I never once knew him. But he knew me.
He had long ago disappeared into himself. He went through the motions. His teeth were brushed. His mortgage was paid. But the spark of dreams could no longer pierce the heaviness of his life.
He always thought of himself to be right. He never thought of what I said. The change in him was so obvious and visible. But he never tried to look into it. His new friends had become his world and I was slowly being erased from his memories.
It was never me, i was not apart of his ‘equation’. Yes, i wanted to be and i sure did make it known, but it just never happened. As irrevocable as i thought our love was… it wasn’t. And i regret sometimes, the day that he walked into my cafe, into my life.
He thought of himself as the person who prefers to have nothing. The moments from here to there were suffused with the amalgamation of sun and moon. Nothing stood between them. He preferred it that way. Nothing stood between them but himself.
what he didn’t know about himself was that he was loved, loved for the man he is inside, not the lad everyone sees outside. Real. He needs to learn to love in return, freely and wholey and then he will be happy.
When a man is himself around a woman, that’s the only time he truly knows if he wants to be with her or not and vice versa because that’s his real self without motive or anything, he’s real.
He always saw himself in this light of mediocrity. What he didn’t realise was how she saw him. To her, he was brilliance in human form. And due to his self-deprecating, somewhat selfish stance, he lost her forever. And that, is a prime example of a tragic love story.
Hi my name is himself. and i hate cartoons and school . there was a war and i stood in the middle and played piano while i had a pizza on me head . no guns got me nor missles i just played piano i died in a boat on a cloud it was peaceful
This guy walked into the bar. He was wearing the biggest, most bad-ass mustache i have ever seen. He called himself “Skip” and he refused to tell us his real name. We later found out that he was from Ohio and had a thing against jews.
he only held his own hands scrossing the door
Imagined the overgrown nails, yellow from playing in sand
Was from nicotine, his breath, sweet and mosit
Loosened with vodka and red bull
The graze on his cheek from falling off his bike
A punishment for faiilure, so he could watch
And wait to make up, be heard when he asked for forgiveness
What to do with himself.
“I feel like I’m pushing you off the couch.”
Don’t move away, you were close, it was nice. Finish telling your story and don’t worry. We are comfortable, she needed to not worry about herself, or him, it was nice as an us momentarily
he himself was a man who was proud of what he had accomplished in life. he did well in school, had a family, and lived life to the fullest. he worked very hard to achieve what he did but it was very hard at times, making him stronger. The lessons he learned helped guide himself to more success in the future.
he is very much by himself when he is with the family. he is probably not happy in that case. we wonder why he is always by himself so we asked hime one day. he said, i just enjoy being by myself
What will he become in the future? What will he make of his life and will it be different from the life he has now? Everyone is judging him and he just wants to crawl into a dark hole and hide until someone shows him where to go. Should he listen to them or try to figure it all out on his own?
himself… I told him to be… himself, he must be. its all up to him, my young son on his own. hopefully what I’ve done to this point will let him believe in himself…
He wandered around the fields and followed the path that wove through the trees and thought of his childhood. Arms were heavy and his breath was light and misty in the cold.
He never thought of himself as one full of the blues. He also assumed sundays were just a bit of an offday, out of the ordinary sure, but nothing worrisome. Then he sat down at a piano, and let his heart spill, vocalizing every pent up emotion, feeling,
Ella solo puede venir a cobijar mi noche cuando no estoy yo. Se mueve entre las sombras para llegar a mis sueños, acaricia mi piel, mi boca y de pronto estalla en el silencio cuando encuentra vacío mi cuarto, mi vida, mi mente; he encontrado a la mujer perfecta pero al otro lado del espejo.
He gave himself a pat on the back for coming up with a great opening to his short story, then realised he had no idea how he was going to finish this sentence.
hes beautiful
hes charming
he makes my smile
he wounds me up with the words he says
he gets my excited for small things
he teases which makes me fall for him even more
hes has high self esteem and self confidence its so attractive
he knows he likes me but he wont go for me
he holds back
every ed sheeran song reminds me of him.
He thinks about himself. Maybe all the time, sometimes, and maybe even none at all. Himself is a word that I don’t know much of since I don’t know that much about the opposite sex. However, I would love to get to know about himself more if I get the chance. Please, let me get the chance to get to know himself.
He was himself, that was who he’d always been. A single entity made up of so many of the tiniest life forms that were all him. Flawed and beautiful, different than any other being to inhabit his town, let alone the rest of the world, no, universe. He was himself.
He sees himself as the superior in this case. Always having to be right, never giving anyone else a chance to state their opinion. It’s all about him. The way he sees himself is not the way anyone else see him. It’s a game for him, one he doesn’t realize he’s playing.
Se miraba al espejo, sus tetas pequeñas, sus caderas amplias, una maraña negra coronaba su cabeza, pero lo mejor era la sonrisa amplia que ofrecían sus piernas.
He didn’t really know himself. He pondered this, crystal glass: made in china, slowly raised to and from his lips to the bathroom sink and back. The cigarette ash wandered upon the marble counter and stained it. He stared into his own eyes, cursing his existence and wishing that freedom would come crashing up on him as a bullet from the gun.
A man who places himself above others does not benefit society. Selfish, self-centered men are borne out of focusing on his self. What a man does for himself will shape the man.
Alone and lonely – by himself he feels insubstantial and insignificant; ourselves would be better. We.
He care for himself as much as his one hundred year old bones could do. He could only fend for himself for he had no one else to look out for him. He should have been more charitable when he was younger.
he is so full of himself he thinks that whatever little trick he trys I am going to fall for still. you love yourself enough for everyone I use to tell him.
Himself is just another ordinary word. I dont know why writing about so hard. I dont really want it to be hard. God! This is frustrating. And annoying. Himself himself himself – NOTHING OF ANY IMPORTANCE THAT COMES INTO MY MIND.
its a word which means someone who do smthn by himself … do smthn with his own power with his own mind etc. ok. this is what i think about this word.
He climbed up the stair, one foot and the other. Hands steady. Holding tight. He knew how to do this. He reached for the next and the next and the next. He climbed up and down twenty-six times, just so he could show me. He could do it, by himself. For the first time since the stroke, my father could walk up and down the stairs, himself.
He didn’t know himself. I thought I could learn: his topography, his character, his internal self. I couldn’t, of course. I was naive. I never once knew him. But he knew me.
He had long ago disappeared into himself. He went through the motions. His teeth were brushed. His mortgage was paid. But the spark of dreams could no longer pierce the heaviness of his life.
He always thought of himself to be right. He never thought of what I said. The change in him was so obvious and visible. But he never tried to look into it. His new friends had become his world and I was slowly being erased from his memories.
turn
write
hug
kill
allow
do not
cross
speak of
brag about
identify
wither
stomp
drag around
hover
create
advance
It was never me, i was not apart of his ‘equation’. Yes, i wanted to be and i sure did make it known, but it just never happened. As irrevocable as i thought our love was… it wasn’t. And i regret sometimes, the day that he walked into my cafe, into my life.
He thought of himself as the person who prefers to have nothing. The moments from here to there were suffused with the amalgamation of sun and moon. Nothing stood between them. He preferred it that way. Nothing stood between them but himself.
what he didn’t know about himself was that he was loved, loved for the man he is inside, not the lad everyone sees outside. Real. He needs to learn to love in return, freely and wholey and then he will be happy.
When a man is himself around a woman, that’s the only time he truly knows if he wants to be with her or not and vice versa because that’s his real self without motive or anything, he’s real.
I could care less about him and his self, but himself is all he wanted to talk about, so I listened… And found out he hated himself… Now I do too.
He always saw himself in this light of mediocrity. What he didn’t realise was how she saw him. To her, he was brilliance in human form. And due to his self-deprecating, somewhat selfish stance, he lost her forever. And that, is a prime example of a tragic love story.
Hi my name is himself. and i hate cartoons and school . there was a war and i stood in the middle and played piano while i had a pizza on me head . no guns got me nor missles i just played piano i died in a boat on a cloud it was peaceful
While trying to save you he lost himself.
Now inside he’s hollow because he should have know there’s always a price to pay for being a hero.
This guy walked into the bar. He was wearing the biggest, most bad-ass mustache i have ever seen. He called himself “Skip” and he refused to tell us his real name. We later found out that he was from Ohio and had a thing against jews.
he only held his own hands scrossing the door
Imagined the overgrown nails, yellow from playing in sand
Was from nicotine, his breath, sweet and mosit
Loosened with vodka and red bull
The graze on his cheek from falling off his bike
A punishment for faiilure, so he could watch
And wait to make up, be heard when he asked for forgiveness
What to do with himself.
“I feel like I’m pushing you off the couch.”
Don’t move away, you were close, it was nice. Finish telling your story and don’t worry. We are comfortable, she needed to not worry about herself, or him, it was nice as an us momentarily
he saw himself in the glass. he walked towards it. drowned in self reflection. a drunk or an existineslist being a lost soul in need of direction.
he himself was a man who was proud of what he had accomplished in life. he did well in school, had a family, and lived life to the fullest. he worked very hard to achieve what he did but it was very hard at times, making him stronger. The lessons he learned helped guide himself to more success in the future.
he is very much by himself when he is with the family. he is probably not happy in that case. we wonder why he is always by himself so we asked hime one day. he said, i just enjoy being by myself
What will he become in the future? What will he make of his life and will it be different from the life he has now? Everyone is judging him and he just wants to crawl into a dark hole and hide until someone shows him where to go. Should he listen to them or try to figure it all out on his own?
dweling a place, the only place where he can feel and have a very close idea about the reality, the dreams, the time, the past, the future…
He, himself. An image of his past, present and future imposed on the canvas of his character by the stroke of his relentless desires.
himself… I told him to be… himself, he must be. its all up to him, my young son on his own. hopefully what I’ve done to this point will let him believe in himself…
He wandered around the fields and followed the path that wove through the trees and thought of his childhood. Arms were heavy and his breath was light and misty in the cold.
Himself, the almighty; the power and nobility, tragically contorted and displaced by others than Himself. He is introvert, he is one, and he is all.
He never thought of himself as one full of the blues. He also assumed sundays were just a bit of an offday, out of the ordinary sure, but nothing worrisome. Then he sat down at a piano, and let his heart spill, vocalizing every pent up emotion, feeling,
Ella solo puede venir a cobijar mi noche cuando no estoy yo. Se mueve entre las sombras para llegar a mis sueños, acaricia mi piel, mi boca y de pronto estalla en el silencio cuando encuentra vacío mi cuarto, mi vida, mi mente; he encontrado a la mujer perfecta pero al otro lado del espejo.
He gave himself a pat on the back for coming up with a great opening to his short story, then realised he had no idea how he was going to finish this sentence.
hes beautiful
hes charming
he makes my smile
he wounds me up with the words he says
he gets my excited for small things
he teases which makes me fall for him even more
hes has high self esteem and self confidence its so attractive
he knows he likes me but he wont go for me
he holds back
every ed sheeran song reminds me of him.
He thinks about himself. Maybe all the time, sometimes, and maybe even none at all. Himself is a word that I don’t know much of since I don’t know that much about the opposite sex. However, I would love to get to know about himself more if I get the chance. Please, let me get the chance to get to know himself.
He was himself, that was who he’d always been. A single entity made up of so many of the tiniest life forms that were all him. Flawed and beautiful, different than any other being to inhabit his town, let alone the rest of the world, no, universe. He was himself.
He sees himself as the superior in this case. Always having to be right, never giving anyone else a chance to state their opinion. It’s all about him. The way he sees himself is not the way anyone else see him. It’s a game for him, one he doesn’t realize he’s playing.
Se miraba al espejo, sus tetas pequeñas, sus caderas amplias, una maraña negra coronaba su cabeza, pero lo mejor era la sonrisa amplia que ofrecían sus piernas.
He didn’t really know himself. He pondered this, crystal glass: made in china, slowly raised to and from his lips to the bathroom sink and back. The cigarette ash wandered upon the marble counter and stained it. He stared into his own eyes, cursing his existence and wishing that freedom would come crashing up on him as a bullet from the gun.