Woody Allen

“If only God would give me a clear sign! Like making a large deposit in my name at a Swiss bank.”
--Woody Allen

WoW!!!

The Strongest Animal in the Jungle

"I am the strongest animal in the jungle," said Lion.

"I can roar louder than anyone else." Lion roared.

"No," said Elephant. "I am the strongest animal in the jungle. I can pull up a tree with my trunk."

Elephant pulled up a tree.

Then Snail spoke up. "Lion, you are not the strongest animal. Elephant, you are not the strongest animal. I am the strongest animal," said Snail.

Lion and Elephant laughed. "What makes you so strong, Snail?" they asked.

"I can carry my house on my back," said Snail. And he did.

By Susan Taylor Brown

Prescription

Calm and respectable lady went into the pharmacy, walked right up to the pharmacist, looked straight into his eyes, and said, “I would like to buy some cyanide.”

The pharmacist asked, “Why in the world do you need cyanide?”

The lady replied, “I need it to poison my husband.”

The pharmacist’s eyes got big and he exclaimed, “Lord have mercy! I can’t give you cyanide to kill your husband! That’s against the law! I’ll lose my license! They’ll throw both of us in jail! All kinds of bad things will happen. Absolutely not! You CANNOT have any cyanide!”

The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist’s wife.

The pharmacist looked at the picture and replied, “Well now, that’s different. You didn’t tell me you had a prescription.”

XXXs and OOOs

EVEN BEFORE LOOKING over my shoulder, I know who's giggling behind me. Sure enough, standing there in the crowded hallway, waiting for me to turn around, is Mushmelon. I don't want to talk to her. But Grandpa used to say, "Every life's worth something in God's eyes." So now I stop spinning the combination lock on my locker and turn around and wait for her to say something.

She's way fatter than last year. And the way she holds her books against her hip makes her look even bigger. God's eyes must be huge to take in all of her. It isn't nice to say, I know, but it's true. Next to her, Annie, her best friend, is tiny. Annie's resting her books on her hip, too, but she holds them in a way that makes me want to keep looking.

"Hi, Danny," Mushmelon says to me.

"Hey."

When Mushmelon smiles, her eyes slant up a little at the outside corners. In the morning light, her curly brown hair shines with glints of red and gold, and freckles cover her cheeks and arms like flecks of sand. If she wasn't so big, she might look good. Not as good as Annie, maybe, but good enough.

"Have a decent summer?" Mushmelon asks.

"Yeah, I guess." What else can I say? It was as decent as it could be without Grandpa to share it with.

"You got my letter?" she says. "Huh?" "My letter?"

I wish she'd leave me alone. I need to dig my gym bag out of my locker so I'm not late again for phys ed. Coach Heller thinks he's still in the army. Anyone who shows up late has to do fifty push-ups in the middle of the basketball court in front of the whole class.

Now Mushmelon's looking straight at me. Her dark eyebrows are pulled low together over her flaking, sunburned nose. "This summer? You got it?"

I don't remember getting a letter. Not right away, at least. But then I see the envelope. It's lying on my desk with red XXXs and OOOs scrawled across the back. No way was I going to open that letter. But I can't tell her that.

"Sure, I got it," I say. "Great letter." "How come you didn't write back?"

How come? Last I heard, I want to say, you write back only if you want to.

"Too busy, I guess," I say.

If anybody were to send me a love letter, why'd it have to be Mushmelon? Why couldn't it have been Annie? A kind of electric shock hits me in the stomach when Annie rolls her blue eyes at me. I watch her blond curls swing back and forth across her tanned shoulders as she tugs on Mushmelon's arm.

"Give me a break," Annie says.

"No, wait," Mushmelon says. "I have to ask."

"Ask what?" I say.

"I put in my favorite shells," Mushmelon says in a softer voice, "and sand from my favorite spot on the lake. And sparkles, too. You know, for the Fourth of July?" Sparkles? Who needs sparkles?

She lowers her eyes and studies the red-and-brown tiles on the floor between us.

"Hey, they were great sparkles," I say; only because she looks so disappointed when I don't answer right away.

What I say, though, doesn't seem to matter. Mushmelon's lower lip starts to tremble. "You don't have to lie," she says, "if you never opened it."

"Who's lying?"

How do girls know when you' re lying? And when they know, why do they start crying? Grandpa always told me to tell the truth. But how can I tell Mushmelon the truth? To say I never opened her letter would be like admitting that I wasn't interested in her, not even as a friend. How can I say that? All I know is that this summer, after Grandpa died, I wasn't interested in anything or anybody.

"Told you," Annie says.

Mushmelon leans into Annie and lets out a sob. Annie puts her arm across Mushmelon's shoulders and glares at me as they walk down the hall.

"Hey, wait!" I call out.

The last thing I want is to make Mushmelon cry. But it's too late to apologize. People are looking at us and wondering what's going on. What can I do? If I say something, everybody will think I like her. Or, worse, they'll think she likes me. I kick the bottom of my locker. How can I explain to Mushmelon about the letter? Man, oh man. Girls are such pains. Grandpa had warned me. Now I wish I'd paid more attention.

After digging my gym bag out from under the mess in my locker, I slam the door. I don't want to think about Mushmelon or her letter. But between classes, we pass each other in the hall, and every time I see her whispering to friends or avoiding me, I feel bad about making her cry.

After lunch, Ms. Bell explains the principles of electricity. Usually I pay attention to whatever Ms. Bell tells us. She's one of the few teachers who knows how to make a subject interesting. But this afternoon, instead of concentrating on ions and electrons, I think about Mushmelon at camp all summer, alone, sending letters, waiting for mail, her mailbox empty except for dead moths. Would it have hurt to write back? In my head I hear Grandpa's voice. Be a mensch, Danny, a kind person, and people will be kind to you.

When I get home that afternoon, I search my desk for her letter. It takes a while until I find it in a drawer crumpled under a pile of old papers, sticky baseball cards, and wrinkled gum wrappers. I must have shoved it there weeks ago, but I don't remember anything about it, just the rows of red XXXs and OOOs on the back.

I turn the envelope over. Small shells and grains of sand shift inside, tumbling from one corner to the other. Some of the sand spills out of the seams onto my desk. Who would think of putting sand in an envelope? Or sparkles? Mushmelon must be crazy!

Only after staring at the red XXXs and OOOs for a while do I remember why I didn't open the letter. I can't lie to myself anymore. It had nothing to do with Grandpa. Inside my head I hear a voice. My voice. You were scared. Admit it.

Scared of Mushmelon? I laugh. Yeah, right.

But I know it's true. The idea of getting close to a girl--even a girl like Mushmelon --is scary. "Girls are mysterious," Grandpa used to say. Only he didn't tell me how strange they'd make me feel. Or how I'd want to be with them one minute and not want to be with them the next.

Now I'm tempted to put the letter back in the drawer. I wouldn't have to tell Mushmelon that I found it. But as much as I don't want to read the letter, I know I have to do it. So I tear open the envelope, brush the sand off the folded sheet of paper, and start to read the words written in round, blue letters.

Dear Danny,
We don't know each other very well, but Annie's
always telling me what a great guy you are. So
I figure I'll write you. I've got to write somebody.

It feels funny holding her letter and touching the same paper that she touched. Reading words that flowed down her arm into her pen is like getting inside her head.

Boy, it feels weird. I look down at the paper and keep reading.

My parents want me to stay in the Poconos instead of going back to New Jersey for my grandfather's funeral. The problem is I can't share my feelings with Annie because she'll tell her mom, and then Mrs. O'Shea will tell my mom. And guess what? Mom'll start worrying like crazy. (My mom's a champion worrywart.) I need to tell somebody. So that's why I'm writing you.

I run my fingers through the sand and sparkles scattered on my desk as I finish the letter.

You understand, don't you? About wanting to come home, even if it's only for a memorial service, not a real funeral? Mom's got this big plan to sprinkle Grandpa's ashes into the ocean near Long Beach Island, where we used to go every summer.

I love the beach. So did Grandpa. That's why I'm putting a handful of shells in the envelope and some sand from the beach here. It's like you and Grandpa are here with me now.

It's not a love letter. She wrote to me about her grandfather, who died while she was away at camp. I want to kick myself. If only I had opened it sooner!

I pick up the envelope again and turn it over. The XXXs and OOOs aren't hugs and kisses for me. No, they're for Mushmelon's grandfather, only he's gone. Man! Now I feel even worse than I did this morning. Grandpa had been right. Girls are a mystery. And he'd been right about something else, too. I shouldn't put off things that I might not like doing. The longer I put them off, it seems, the harder they are to do.

I drag a thick phone book out of the hall closet and flip through the pages to find Mushmelon's number. After punching the numbers into the phone, I wait for her to answer, not knowing what I'm going to say. I want to put the receiver down, but I know what Grandpa would say: "You have to call, Danny. Don't put it off any longer."

It's three more rings before Mushmelon's voice floats into my ear. I grip the phone tighter. "Ellen, is that you?" "Hello?" "Hi, it's me."

"Hello? Hello? Who is this?"

I can't move my fingers. It's like they're glued to the phone.

"It's Danny," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but all I hear is silence. I wait for her to say something else. "'Are you still there?"

"Yes," she says.

"I read your letter."

More silence.

"Did you hear me?" I ask.

"I bet," she says.

"No, seriously, I did. Just now. I read it, like, twice."

"I'm supposed to believe you, um, saved my letter? From this summer?"

"Look, I should have written back, O.K.?"

Silence again.

"I made a mistake and I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

I can hear her breathing.

"Ellen?"

More silence, more breathing.

"Say something. Please?"

"Thanks," she says.

Her voice sounds far away. If only I could figure out how to bring it closer. "Look, if there's anything--"

"Thanks. For reading what I wrote, I mean."

"Oh, sure. I just hope you'll forgive--" I hear a click. Did she hang up? "Hey, wait a minute!"

Now that I want to talk to her, she's gone. It feels strange wanting to talk to a girl. Not just to any girl, but to Mushmelon. It's even stranger not to think of her as a girl, or as thin or fat, just somebody whose grandfather died and who misses him the way I miss Grandpa.

I stare at the phone, afraid to call back. I know the words will get caught in my throat. Or I'll say something stupid and upset her. I probably shouldn't have bothered calling at all.

The rest of that night, I worry that I said the wrong thing until I finally drift off to sleep.

In the morning, Scotch-taped to my locker, I find a folded sheet of lined yellow paper. My hand shakes a little as I open the note. It's got red handwriting printed neatly inside a red heart.

My friend Randy leans over my shoulder. "Ooh, a love letter!"

I shove him away with my elbow.

"Knock it off, O.K.?"

"Who's it from?"

I hold the paper close to my chest and read it. "Thanks for the call last night. It means a lot to know you understand." The two ls in Ellen's name at the bottom loop as though she tried to make them into tiny red hearts. After reading her note twice, I fold the paper into a small square and tuck it into my shirt pocket.

"Who's sending you love letters?" Randy asks.

"For your information," I say, pulling open my locker, "it's not a love letter."

"Yeah, right. Come on, who sent it? You can tell me."

Randy's one of my best friends, but he likes to joke around a lot. Most of the time, the joking's at someone else's expense. Should I tell him about last night? Maybe. I want to tell somebody. Dragging my gym bag out of the locker, I say, "Swear you won't say anything?" Randy nods. "Swear it?"

He crosses both arms--and all of his fingers--in front of his chest. "Good enough?"

I take a deep breath before telling him. "You ready for this?"

Randy tries to look serious.

"Ellen Mushkin," I say.

He's grinning like he just heard a bad joke. "Are you nuts? Mushmelon?"

"Hey, lay off. I'm telling you, she's O.K." "She's writing you love letters?" Randy shakes his head and looks at me as if he doesn't know who I am. I feel like I've grown an extra head or three eyes. "I don't believe it," he says.

"It's not like that!"

"Wait'll the guys hear," he says, like I'm some kind of freak now.

"Go ahead and tell," I say.

"Hey, there she is!" Randy points down the hall. "Your girlfriend's coming this way. It's like she's got radar vision. Bet she could find you anywhere."

Ellen gives me a shy wave, nothing more than a flick of her fingers under her books.

"Morning," I say.

"Hey, Danny." Her voice sounds warm, not like the other morning or over the phone yesterday afternoon.

"See you later?" I say. "At lunch, maybe?"

Her eyes slant up. She's grinning. It's a wide, pretty smile. "That'd be great." "O.K. See you."

I watch her walk down the hall, her hair shimmering in the light as if it's filled with gold sparkles.

"Ooh, man, later with Mushmelon!" Randy shoves me into the locker.

"Hey, birdbrain, knock it off!" I push him back.

Randy holds up his hands. "O.K., O.K."

The bell rings. I slam my locker shut and jog down. the hall after him.

"Better hurry," Randy says. "My arms still hurt from the last fifty push-ups Heller made us do."

I check my watch as we race through the empty hallway. Another three hours until noon. I'm already looking forward to lunch, to sitting by Ellen and talking about our grandpas.

By Bruce Black

The Four Freedoms

Norman Rockwell at the opening of the Four Freedoms tour, 27 April 1943 (Photo)

Norman Rockwell tossed in his bed, wondering how he could capture the Four Freedoms on canvas. The artiste Wanted to base a series of pictures on President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's inspiring Four Freedoms speech. When most Of Europe had fallen to Adolf Hitler, the president had called on Americans to help stop tyrants such as the German dictator, and he. had Spoken of the freedoms all people deserve.

Rockwell reread President Roosevelt's Words: "The first is freedom of speech and expression--everywhere in the world. The Second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own Way--everywhere in. the World.. The third is freedom from want every where in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear anywhere in the world."

Eleven months after President Roosevelt gave his speech, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and the United States joined the fight. Now American soldiers were overseas, embroiled in the battles of World War II, and the war was not going well for the Allies. Rockwell wanted to paint the Four Freedoms and offer them as his contribution to [he war effort. He hoped his pictures would help Americans understand what they were fighting for.

Other artists had been commissioned by the government to paint murals, stamps, and prints of the Four Freedoms. They had created lofty images. That wasn't Rockwell's style. But President Roosevelt's language was so high and noble. How could Norman Rockwell portray those freedoms in concrete terms? "I continued to stew over an idea, Rockwell wrote, I tried this and that. Nothing worked."

While he mulled over the problem of the Four Freedoms, he painted another illustration for a magazine cover, went to a town meeting, and attended a Grange supper. One night he went to bed, still struggling to come up with an idea. "As the minutes ticked by, all empty and dark, I suddenly remembered how Jim Edgerton had stood up in a town meeting and said something that everybody else disagreed with. But they had let him have his say. No one had shouted him down. My gosh, I thought, that's it. There it is. Freedom of Speech. I'll illustrate the Four Freedoms using my Vermont neighbors as models."

Rockwell was so excited that he jumped out of bed and bicycled over to tell his friend and fellow illustrator Mead Schaeffer, even though it was three o'clock in the morning. In the next few days, Rockwell made full-size color sketches of what he intended to do. When he and Schaeffer headed to Washington to offer the sketch ideas to the government.

But the government wasn't interested. Rockwell's and Schaeffer's spirits flagged as they were turned down by one official after another. The war was going badly, and government officials were overworked. The Undersecretary of the War Department told Rockwell; "We'd love to print your Four Freedoms, but we can't.… We just don't have the time to spare to arrange it. I think they'd be a fine contribution. We'd be delighted if someone would publish them."

Discouraged, Rockwell and his friend Schaeffer returned home, taking a side trip to see the editor of the Saturday Evening Post, Ben Hibbs. Rockwell, had other pictures to sell, and Hibbs often bought Rockwell's illustrations. Hibbs asked Rockwell about his trip to Washington, and when he showed the editor his sketches of the Four Freedoms, Hibbs got excited. "You've got to do them for us.… Drop everything else. Just do the Four Freedoms."

Rockwell and his friend returned to Vermont, and Rockwell set to work. But things didn't go smoothly. Rockwell painted the first freedom, Freedom of Speech, four times. "I practically finished it twice, finding each time when I had just a few days' work left that it wasn't right." He had started by showing an entire town meeting, but there were too many people in the picture. In the end, he focused on a single man speaking in front of his neighbors.

Then came Freedom of Worship. Rockwell's first sketch was of a country barbershop. A Jew sat in the barber chair being shaved by a Protestant while a Catholic priest and a Negro waited their turns, all of them enjoying one another's company. But the picture seemed to offend the friends who stopped by to see it. "Priests don't look like that," Catholics told Rockwell. His Jewish and Negro Friends didn't like the picture either. Rod well discarded that picture, started another, and tossed that one aside. Finally he painted a varied group of people, hands raised in prayer, each worshiping God in his or her own way.

After that, Freedom from Want and Freedom from Fear came easily. He based them on his original color sketches. For Freedom from Want, Rockwell painted his own family's Thanksgiving turkey with a family gathered around it. "One of the few times," he Said, "I've ever eaten the model." For Freedom from Fear, he painted parents tucking their children safely into bed.

Rockwell brought the finished paintings to the editor of the Saturday Evening Post. The Post printed the series, and they were a tremendous hit. Subscribers requested posters, and the government asked if they could use the images. Eventually the paintings were taken on a nationwide tour. Over a million people came to see Rockwell's Four Freedoms. Four million posters of the paintings were printed. The publicity they generated helped sell over $132 million worth of war bonds to help fund the war effort.

Americans loved the paintings, but Norman Rockwell wasn't completely satisfied with them. "I never liked Freedom from Fear or… Freedom from Want. Neither of them has any wallop," he said. He worried that Freedom from Fear was "rather smug," that the painting suggested Americans could put their children to bed without fear while families were being bombed in Europe. And he saw Freedom from Want as a portrayal of overabundance at a time when families in war-torn nations were going hungry. "I think the two I had the most trouble with--Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Worship--have more of an impact, say more, better." The art critics didn't always agree with Rockwell. In fact, some felt that Freedom from Fear and Freedom from Want were the strongest of the four paintings. You can judge for yourself.

But there's no doubt that Rockwell's Four Freedoms made a major contribution to the war effort. As editor Ben Hibbs said, "Those four pictures quickly became the best known and most appreciated paintings of that era. They appeared right at a time when the war was going against us on the battle fronts, and the American people needed the inspirational message which they conveyed so forcefully and so beautifully." The Four Freedoms are some of the best known and best loved paintings in America. And their message is just as strong today as it was when they were painted--Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Worship, Freedom from Want, and Freedom from Fear for everyone, everywhere in the world.

By Linda Crotta Brennan

What is Tension and Relaxation?

Osho The Hidden Splendor, Chapter 11

Start being aware with day-to-day, routine actions, and while you are doing your routine actions, remain relaxed. There is no need to be tense. When you are washing the floor, what is the need to be tense? Or when you are cooking the food, what is the need to be tense?

THERE IS NOT a single thing in life which requires your tension. It is just your unawareness and your impatience.

I have not found anything -- and I have lived in all kinds of ways, with all kinds of people. And I have always been puzzled: why are they tense?

It seems tension has nothing to do with anything outside you, it has something to do within you. Outside you always find an excuse only because it looks so idiotic to be tense without any reason. Just to rationalize, you find some reason outside yourself to explain why you are tense.

But tension is not outside you, it is in your wrong style of life. You are living in competition -- that will create tension. You are living in continuous comparison -- that will create tension. You are always thinking either of the past or of the future, and missing the present which is the only reality -- that will create tension.

IT IS A QUESTION of simple understanding; there is no need of any competition with anybody. You are yourself, and as you are, you are perfectly good.

Accept yourself.

This is the way existence wants you to be. Some trees are taller; some trees are smaller. But the smaller trees are not tense -- neither are the taller trees full of ego. Existence needs variety.

Somebody is stronger than you; somebody is more intelligent than you -- but in something, you also must be more talented than anybody else.

Just find your own talent. Nature never sends any single individual without some unique gift. Just a little search... perhaps you can play on the flute better than the president of the country can be a president -- you are a better flautist than he is a president. There is no question of any comparison. Comparison leads people astray. Competition keeps them continuously tense, and because their life is empty, they never live in the moment. All they do is to think of the past, which is no more, or project in the future, which is not yet.

This whole thing drives people almost abnormal -- insane. Otherwise there is no need: no animal goes mad, no tree needs any psychoanalysis. The whole existence is living in constant celebration, except man. He is sitting aloof, tense, worried.

A SMALL LIFE, and you are losing it and every day death is coming closer. That creates even more angst -- "Death is coming closer and I have not even started living." Most people realize only when they die that they were alive -- but then it is too late.

Just live the moment.

And whatever qualities and whatever talents you have, use them to the fullest.
ONE OF THE MYSTICS in India , Kabir, was a weaver. He had thousands of followers and still he continued to weave clothes. Even kings were his followers.

The king of Varanasi asked him, "Master, it doesn't look good, it makes us feel embarrassed. We can take care of you. There is no need for you to weave clothes and every week on market day, go into the market to sell your clothes. Just think of us: people laugh at us."

Kabir said, "I can understand your problem but I have only one talent and that is to weave beautiful clothes. If I stop doing it, who will do it? And God comes in different faces, in different bodies, to purchase clothes every week in the marketplace. "

He used to address every customer, "Lord, be very careful of the cloth. I have been weaving it, not just like any other weaver -- my songs are in it and my soul is in it. I have poured my whole being in it. Be careful, use it with tenderness and love and remember: Kabir has woven it especially for you, Lord."

And it was not something that he was addressing to anybody in particular -- any customer! This was his contribution. He used to say to his disciples, "What else can I do? I am doing my best: I can weave, I can sing, I can dance -- and I am immensely contented."

WHATEVER YOU ARE doing, if there is contentment and a feeling that this whole existence is nothing but the manifestation of godliness, that we are traveling on holy earth, that whomever you are meeting, you are meeting God -- there is no other way; only faces are different, but the inner reality is the same -- all your tensions will disappear. And the energy that is involved in tensions will start becoming your grace, your beauty.

Then life will not be just an ordinary, routine, day-to-day existence, but a dance from cradle to grave.

And existence will be immensely enriched by your grace, by your relaxation, by your silence, by your awareness.

You will not leave the world without contributing something valuable to it. But people are always looking at others, at what others are doing -- somebody is playing the flute and you cannot, and immediately there is misery; somebody is painting and you cannot, and there is misery.

WHATEVER YOU ARE doing, do it with such love, with such care that the smallest thing in the world becomes a piece of art. It will bring great joy to you. And it will create a world without competition, without comparison; it will give dignity to all people; it will restore their pride, which religions have destroyed.

In my whole life, I have never judged any person. If God is happy with him, why should I be worried whether he is a thief or a murderer? Perhaps that is the function existence wants him to do. All that is needed is that he should do it with as much artfulness and as much intelligence as he can gather -- with his totality.

Any act done with totality becomes your prayer.

Learn as if you're going to live forever....Live as if you're going to die tomorrow.

-- M. K. Gandhi

Boys anticipation for sex with girlfriend !

A boy decided to have a dinner with his girlfriend parents. Since this is such a big event, the girl announces to her boyfriend that after dinner, she would like to go out and make love for the first time.

Well, the boy is ecstatic, but he has never had sex before, so he takes a trip to the pharmacist to get some condoms. The pharmacist helps the boy for about an hour. He tells the boy everything there is to know about condoms and sex.
At the register, the pharmacist asks the boy how many condoms he’d like to buy, a 3-pack, 10-pack, or family pack. The boy insists on the family pack because he thinks he will be rather busy, it being his first time and all.

That night, the boy shows up at the girl’s parents house and meets his girlfriend at the door. “Oh, I’m so excited for you to meet my parents, come on in!”

The boy goes inside and is taken to the dinner table where the girl’s parents are seated. The boy quickly offers to say grace and bows his head.

A minute passes, and the boy is still deep in prayer, with his head down. 10 minutes pass, and still no movement from the boy. Finally, after 20 minutes with his head down, the girlfriend leans over and whispers to the boyfriend, “I had no idea you were this religious.”

The boy turns, and whispers back, “I had no idea your father was a pharmacist.”

Cool SMS Collection !

Some things are left undone,
some words are left unsaid,
some feelings are left unexpressed,
but someone as sweet as you could never be left unmissed.

If I met you on tomorrow
I would still give you my heart If you should say,
“do you still love me?” I’d say,
“Till death do us part”

Best wishes to you both on ur anniversary,
May the love that you share Last your lifetime through,
As you make a wonderful pair.

On this special day,
best wishes go to you,
that this wonderful love u share,
lasts your lifetime through.

I’ll always remember the day I married you,
Without you my love, my beauty, I don’t know what I’d do,
Your loving and thoughtful just to mention two,
I adore your sweet smile It makes me want you.

Your love makes my days Happy and bright,
Into my world you Brought pure delight
Joy beyond reason You’ve given me,
Our love is true This I can see.

The most important thing you fixed was on your day of leisure
When you fixed your eyes on me That day I’ll always treasure I love you.

I LOVE U are words just three,
which mean so much on our ANNIVERSARY.
So, this is what i want to say,
live in my heart n there 4 ever stay…

I’m sending this bouquet of love
To say that I love you so much
I hope I say it often enough
I want you to know it’s true,
On this special occasion I want to remind you,
That you are my everything And my love is true.

I’ve learned that you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in. =)

Sometimes,
my mind asks. Why I miss you?
Why I care for you? Why I remember you?
Why I text you? Then my heart answered,
Mongoloids need more care! Hehehe. Now, you’re smiling! =)

Life is pretty much unpredictable.
I may not live long enough
but I won’t miss out letting you know
that life is worth living with someone like you around.


Having a good laugh with a friend like you stimulates endorphins,
the brain’s natural painkillers. So,
if you need to laugh and you can’t find a friend like yourself,
I can lend you my mirror.

Thank you for touching my life in ways you may never know.
My riches do not lie in material wealth,
but in having friend like you - a precious gift from God.

No life ever grows great until it is focused,
dedicated, and disciplined.
But no life is ever happy until it is lived for the glory of God. Keep the faith.

A smile is the best lighting system of the face,
the best cooling system of the head,
and the best warming system of the heart. Keep smiling! =)

Don’t wait until it’s too late to tell someone how much you love,
how much you care. Because when they’re gone,
no matter how loud you shout and cry,
they won’t hear you anymore.

Love isn’t a decision,
it’s a feeling. If we could decide who to love,
then, life would be much simpler,
but then less magical.

It takes a strong heart to love.
It takes a stronger heart to continue to love after it has been hurt…

I’m sorry for blaming you…
For everything I just couldn’t do…
And I’ve hurt myself by hurting you…
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to hear your voice again…
Sometimes, I want to call you, but I know you won’t be there…
It’s hard to say goodbye when i

Remember the good times we had spent together, and the beautiful future we had dreamy of…
Darling I never wanted to create a distance between us…
Please let us bridge the gaps…

Always be Happy, always wear a smile;
Not because life is full of reasons to smile but because ur smile itself is a reason for many others to smile…

Someday somehow watever u prayed for will COME TRUE…
It may not be in the exact pakage u wanted…
But… It will be what GOD thinks is best for YOU…

1+1=2 eyes look at u…
12+12=24 hours thinking about u…
3+4=7 days in week missing u…
1+11=12 months I always need A SWEET PERSON like U.

Touch ur heart
Close ur eyes
Make a wish
Say good nite
sky so wide
Stars so bright
off the light
sleep quite quite
..(-.-)..
ZzzZZZzz
SWeet DreAms…

24hrs make a lovely day,
7 days make a lovely week,
52 weeks make a lovely year & knowing a
person like me will make ur life lovely..
Have a lovely day n life!**

Good FRIENDS CaRE for each Other..
CLoSE Friends UNDERSTaND each Other…
and TRUE Friends STaY forever
beyond words,
beyond time…

No subject