Best 29 quotes in «story of my life quotes» category

The story of life depends on how well you live your life.

We write to give strength to our soul and to inspire spirit of other souls.

When we feel fractured, redundant and nonessential, only bouncing back from lowliness may brighten up the story of our life. In this endeavor, “otherness” might lend a helping hand in making the road less parching. (“He did not know that she knew”)

We all have stories Stories that we unfold in the dark With heavy eye lids Maybe we are scared if we let them out in the sunlight everyone will see how scared we are . Moonlight has always been subtle, subtle on these stories In the sun we are warriors In the moonlight we are war torn. At the end we all are humans who survive it all.

You couldn’t control how your story started, but you can write a few good pages in there

Without seeing the whole picture and without knowing the whole story of a man’s life, our judgements about him will most probably be wrong and unfair!

You are the only author of the story of your life. 'Fate' is just an excuse for all of your wrong decisions.

Certainly, the history of my life and the works of art which have especially enriched it is precisely that: the depiction or incantation of a handful of metaphors whose spendour rests upon their intonation.

While we are living, our lives are like that of an open book, still being written. Eventually, our book closes for us, and to others, it will be as if we never existed at all. Those of us who write down our life story, will leave a little piece of us behind when we're gone.” -Nina Jean Slack, Once Lost, Forever Found (Vol. #1)

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I see myself as anybody, as everybody; I'm not just telling the story of my life to give the reader a picture of who I am.

Hadithi ya maisha yangu ni yangu. Wewe ni nani kusema hadithi yangu si ya kweli?

From the point in life when a man/woman is responsible for his/her choices, he/she starts to live a story brought to life by the dreams that have been consciously or subconsciously conceived.

Everybody has a story that must be told. Your life is your story. Tell your story.

I got hit in the fucking head with the medicine ball.

If you didn't cried this time While narrating your story' it proves you are healed now :)

I like to work late because I don’t like to work early—and I have to work sometime.

I like to work late because I don’t like to work early—and I have to work sometime. If I get here first thing in the morning, I feel like I have to iron my clothes. But by 2 o’clock, nobody cares. And by 7, nobody’s here.

I feel so blessed to be alive and so blessed to have to have a father that loves me no matter how much wrong I do in this world.

I'm not athletic and have no desire to work out, so I watch what I eat. Correction: I eat what I want and feel guilty about it later.

It takes one person to rewrite the history book.

Our stories hold unique inspiration for one another.

Life is a great Book. We are writing the history of our time.

I would like my life to be remembered as a good story, well told.

My wishes before I die, to fulfill my mission on earth; The writing of my life stories to inspired present and future generations.

Once, just west of Framingham on the Worcester Turnpike or Route 9 in Massachusetts, I caught a ride in a truck that had worn brakes. The driver, a jolly red-nosed individual with a white beard who could have passed as Santa Claus, suggested that I might want to get out considering the situation regarding the truck’s brakes. Not wanting to turn down a ride in the middle of the night, I rode it out with the driver. Going uphill was all right, but coming down was decidedly hairy. The driver knew what he was doing and used his engine to slow himself down, but he had to depend on his emergency brake if he wanted to, or had to, stop. At one traffic light, which was on a downhill slope, he couldn’t bring his rig to a stop and just blew through the intersection, horn blowing, weaving past the cross traffic. I hung on enjoying the excitement as the driver narrated his moves, as if he was telling a story. I watched and listened to him, too caught up in this wild ride to get concerned about the danger. There were a number of downgrades where he totally lost control of our speed, but fortunately the upgrade would slow us down again. He relied on his loud air horn, which sounded even louder in the dark of night. Fun was fun and eventually we got to Worcester, where I was glad to get off in one piece. I hope that he got his load to where it was going, but I knew that the farther west on Route 9 he went, the more mountainous the terrain would become and I didn’t want any part of that. Besides, this was where I needed to get off. My next leg would take me through Sturbridge and then on to Connecticut. .

The Book Charm Your Story Will Never End As Long As Your Chapters Are Shared

Or maybe it was just that my life was a big, cruel joke, and there was no escape from the punch line.

Tell your story to inspired other people to rise up and live their dreams.