lisa wiseman photography

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There is always something left to love.
— Gabriel Garcia Marquez
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Love generates love.
— Rumi
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Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love.
— Gabriel Garcia Marquez
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To all, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love…
— Gabriel Garcia Marquez
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The things you are passionate about are not random. They are your calling.
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Be good… but if you can’t be good, be careful!
— My grandmother (while grinning!)
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Have I told you lately that I love you?

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In Yiddish there’s a word for it: bashert. The meaning is something like “intended”: the person who was meant for you. We’re not talking about a soul mate, though modern usage often spins it that way; the original meaning is more complicated. Your basherter won’t always make you happy, and your life together won’t always be easy. But there’s a sense of rightness, of having landed where you’re supposed to be.
— Julie Orringer
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These pictures, from 1965 onward, in some way reflect a thought game [which] began with a though about how I would love to see more of the world. I would love to travel deeply and widely. And what is the deepest and widest you can travel? It’s to come back to where you already are. And I saw my own circumnavigation of the Earth in my mind’s eye, and I realized in that moment that nothing would be more dear to me than where I already was.
— The incomparable photographer Emmet Gowin about the wisdom of staying close to home and family.
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Love comes in the door in many ways.
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If you are taking it too seriously you are doing it wrong.
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It would have been easier if she hadn’t discovered how simple it could be to love.
— N. R.
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We are not our thoughts. We are the awareness of our thoughts, disguised as people.
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[She] had often thought success came as much from knowing who [she] was as from any skill.
— N.R.
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As the years go by, one senses that mortality itself is her underlying subject and that all her books are books of remembering.
Sean O’Hagan on the immortal Nan Goldin