Adi Alsaid Quotes

I like red - don't get me wrong. But I have a deep appreciation for anything that is willing to be totally and utterly itself. If you're going to be red, well, then, be red, goddamnit. From your steering wheel to your hubcaps, be red.

Well, it's part of a longer quote, this really beautiful passage about how the best you can ever do is to leave the world a little better than you found it. It doesn't matter how you do it. Invent a new toaster or reach out a helping hand; just, you know, leave it a little better than you found it." Dave

I peered at the bowl, which was piled high with shrimp and vegetables, little cubes of what looked like meat or fish. The broth was a beautiful golden color, with little circles of orange oil floating on the surface, near the edge of the bowl. My heart rate slowed, oblivion averted. "More chances at wishes. But also, this looks damn good."
I realized I was still holding the spoon with the dumpling, the steam not wafting out like a volcano anymore. So I closed my eyes and readied myself for another bite.
This time the heat took a step back and allowed everything else to come forward. The savory richness of pork, a bite of ginger and scallions, the broth. Oh, man, the broth. I hadn't ever tasted anything quite like this before. I chewed the dumpling, which was starchy but also managed to melt away, letting its texture dominate. For a moment, I wanted to reach for something beyond the flavor, but failed. Would I recognize the taste of magic, if magic even had a taste? Then I let the flavor itself take over.

Waking up to a smell is a lot more satisfying than waking up to a noise. Instead of barging in uninvited and yanking you out into reality, smells enter your dreams with a silent knock and a polite Excuse me?

I keep expecting to bump into you two on the road, but maybe the universe isn't yet ready to handle you and me side by side again.

All the recognizable cliques came by, and so did those un-groupable stragglers who were known by their little circles of two or three.

Seize the Tuesday.

As long as we don't get turned into something that looks more like high school, more like everybody else and less like us, I'll be okay.

a lot easier to seize the day than it is to seize a Tuesday. You have errands on Tuesday. On Tuesday you eat pizza again. Your favorite TV show is on Tuesday, you know?

Well, everyone needs at least one long road trip in their lives.

When you don't have any reason to think of days as weekdays or weekends, you start to realize that all days are pretty much the same. And that kind of gives you the freedom to do whatever you want. It's a lot easier to seize the day than it is to seize a Tuesday. You have errands on Tuesday. On Tuesday you eat pizza again. Your favorite show is on Tuesday, you know? But the day ... The day is all just hours you're alive for. They can be filled with anything. Unexpectedness, wildness, maybe a little bit of lawlessness, even. If that makes sense.

Love was lazy as hell.

How do text messages make you feel existential?
I start thinking about exactly that: how people can edit a thought before sending it out to the world. They can make themselves seem more well spoken than they are, or funnier, smarter. I start thinking that no one in the world is who they say the are, then my mind goes to how I also edit myself, not just online but in real life, except for those rare instances like right now where I'm ranting- even though that's a lie because I've had this train of thought before and damned if I didn't tweak it in my head a few times to make it sound better- and then my mind starts racing so furiously I can't control my thoughts, and I start thinking about robots and wondering if I'm even a real person.

But you know what I mean, don't you? How sometimes you feel like you're the only person in the world who is seeing something?

I hate technology. It provides so many different channels of loneliness. Every time you check your email and don't see a new message, you know that, even though people have the ability to contact you at any time of the day from anywhere on the planet, no one is interested in doing so. Phones are constant reminders that 160 people you know fairly well have nothing to say to you most of the time.

No sky Leila had seen before could compare to the beauty she was seeing above her. It didn't feel like some accident of nature but rather something that was purposefully unleashed on the world.

People go entire lives without figuring out exactly what they want from life. You already have it, and the future you and your dad have planned out for you in going to take it away from you.

Human beings are more or less formulas. Pun intended. We are not any one thing that is mathematically provable. We are more or less than we are anything. We are more or less kind, or more or less not. More or less selfish, happy, wise, lonely.

People hurt each other. It happens to everyone. Intentionally, unintentionally, regretfully or not. It's a part of what we do as people. The beauty is that we have the ability to heal and forgive.

God crafted men's eyes and women's breast from the same material, I'm convinced. Whenever eyes wander toward cleavage, they're just trying to feel like they're home. It's also why breasts always know when they're being watched.

Love was lazy as hell. Love laid around in bed, warm from the sheets and the sunlight pouring into the room. Love was too lazy to get up to close the blinds. Love was too comfortable to get up and go pee. Love took too many naps, it watched TV, but not really, because it was too busy kissing and napping. Love was also funny, which somehow made the bed more comfortable, the laughter warming the sheets, softening the mattress and the lovers' skin.

He meant to bury himself in work right away, but against instinct he stole another glance. How long would the memory of her face haunt him? Days? Weeks?

What if she was supposed to be a painter, but no one ever gave her a brush?

-How does someone win?"
-We're seventeen-year-olds with our own island. We're already winners.

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the car's problems when

So it's pretty simple. Go sing. Sing well or sing badly -it doesn't matter, as long as you sing your fucking heart out.

He only allowed himself a quick glance at her, knowing as soon as he saw her that she was the kind of girl who could make you think your life was not complete unless she was in it.

If we all die and our lives are forgotten, it is these conversations that make an impression on the deletable history of the world.

I don't know where the hell you came from, but I'm glad you did. I'd have been lost without you.

No point in living a life less ordinary if you don't know what the other side looks like.

What makes a taco perfect?"
"Beautiful question," Felix said. "It's a taco that tastes as good as the idea of a taco itself. A taco that'll hold steadfast through memory's attempt to erase it, a taco that'll be worthy of the nostalgia that it will cause. A taco that won't satisfy or fill but will satiate your hunger. Not just for tonight but for tacos in general, for food, for life-it-fucking-self, brother. You will feel full to your soul
"But!" he added, a callused index finger pointed straight up at the sky. "It's also a taco that will make you hunger for more tacos like it, for more tacos at all, for food, the joy of it, the beauty of it. A taco that makes you hungry for life and that makes you feel like you have never been more alive. Nothing short of that will do.

And maybe the only way to find what you're looking for is to get lost along the way.