Sentences with phrase «irrational love for»

Everyone has an irrational love for a goofy movie - this one (pulling a dreadful 40 percent on rottentomatoes.com) is mine.

Everyone has a completely irrational love for something that seems weird to other people but what can I say?

Not exact matches

And yet, the song can contrarily suggest that he would be wrong to adopt a dismissive attitude towards his love for her — no, it means something deep to him, and that could mean that the love is in some way right — what his apparently irrational eros is telling him is that she is capable of being complementary to him in some special way, and so he should stick it out.

Seems to me that football brings out irrational emotional responses, the media exploits that as much as possible and a lot of supporters of other teams love laughing at whinging gooners after we have lost (thanks aftv for feeding the enemy so well!)

«For most of history it was inconceivable that people would choose their mates on the basis of something as fragile and irrational as love and then focus all their sexual, intimate, and altruistic desires on the resulting marriage.

For example, I've never felt the urge to keep every item on my desk in perfect symmetry, and I have no irrational fears that myself or a loved one are in imminent danger of some horrific accident.

I'm not one of these critics who have an irrational hatred for all things Jerry Bruckheimer, I actually love most of his movies (except the Transformer series) and recently watched Armageddon again on Blu - ray and still love that movie — it makes me cry every time, yeah I'm a Sap.

As Robert Oswald, he underplays while everyone swings for the fences, neatly and efficiently capturing brotherly love, ordinary dignity and irrational guilt.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

For those finding that an irrational desire for constant contact with a loved one is affecting their life, Associate Professor Manicavasagar recommends consulting an appropriate psychologiFor those finding that an irrational desire for constant contact with a loved one is affecting their life, Associate Professor Manicavasagar recommends consulting an appropriate psychologifor constant contact with a loved one is affecting their life, Associate Professor Manicavasagar recommends consulting an appropriate psychologist.