Leesa Freeman
Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ Author
Born
in Austin, Texas
December 08
Website
Genre
Member Since
March 2012
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Leesa Freeman
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Into The Deep End
6 editions
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published
2015
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The Wisdom to Know the Difference
3 editions
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published
2011
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Angel Kisses
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published
2011
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Summer Camp
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published
2011
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* Note: these are all the books on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ for this author. To add more, click here.
“I looked at the images hanging on the walls, wanting to find those things in her pictures. My favorite was directly across from me: a photo of a beaten, weathered hull of a rowboat. I knew about as much about boats as I did photography, which was next to nothing, but that boat wasn’t going anywhere near the water anytime soon unless the owner decided it would make a mediocre shipwreck to explore while scuba diving. Nevertheless, it faced the out-of-focus lake in the background, almost hopefully, as if it hadn’t yet decided its best days were gone, as if it still dreamed of bobbing peacefully on the waves.
“Does that one have a name?� I asked.
She smiled. “Seaworthy.”
―
“Does that one have a name?� I asked.
She smiled. “Seaworthy.”
―
“What looks good to you?â€� he asked as if we were out for ice cream.
Rocky road or pistachio?
Like my Corvette sitting back in the shop, he had a penchant for American-made classics, the ones Detroit had long-since forgotten it once knew how to make. Slowly, I walked around looking at each one—the acid green Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes, the powder blue Ford Fairlane, the black Chevy Bel-Airâ€� each in pristine condition and only because his blood and sweat coursed through them as surely as gasoline. But if he was serious that I could take my pick and drive it out of here, there was only one choice for me: the cherry red 1955 Ford Bronco.”
―
Rocky road or pistachio?
Like my Corvette sitting back in the shop, he had a penchant for American-made classics, the ones Detroit had long-since forgotten it once knew how to make. Slowly, I walked around looking at each one—the acid green Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes, the powder blue Ford Fairlane, the black Chevy Bel-Airâ€� each in pristine condition and only because his blood and sweat coursed through them as surely as gasoline. But if he was serious that I could take my pick and drive it out of here, there was only one choice for me: the cherry red 1955 Ford Bronco.”
―
“She turned and smiled. “Kitchen-sink pasta.â€�
“My favorite. But you really ought to come up with a better name for it than kitchen-sink pasta. Sounds only slightly more appealing than bathtub gefilte fish.�
She shuddered. “Who in god’s name would make bathtub gefilte fish?�
“I dated a Jewish girl whose grandmother made it,â€� I laughed.”
―
“My favorite. But you really ought to come up with a better name for it than kitchen-sink pasta. Sounds only slightly more appealing than bathtub gefilte fish.�
She shuddered. “Who in god’s name would make bathtub gefilte fish?�
“I dated a Jewish girl whose grandmother made it,â€� I laughed.”
―
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
― A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles"
― A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles"
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
―
―
“I looked at the images hanging on the walls, wanting to find those things in her pictures. My favorite was directly across from me: a photo of a beaten, weathered hull of a rowboat. I knew about as much about boats as I did photography, which was next to nothing, but that boat wasn’t going anywhere near the water anytime soon unless the owner decided it would make a mediocre shipwreck to explore while scuba diving. Nevertheless, it faced the out-of-focus lake in the background, almost hopefully, as if it hadn’t yet decided its best days were gone, as if it still dreamed of bobbing peacefully on the waves.
“Does that one have a name?� I asked.
She smiled. “Seaworthy.”
―
“Does that one have a name?� I asked.
She smiled. “Seaworthy.”
―
“What looks good to you?â€� he asked as if we were out for ice cream.
Rocky road or pistachio?
Like my Corvette sitting back in the shop, he had a penchant for American-made classics, the ones Detroit had long-since forgotten it once knew how to make. Slowly, I walked around looking at each one—the acid green Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes, the powder blue Ford Fairlane, the black Chevy Bel-Airâ€� each in pristine condition and only because his blood and sweat coursed through them as surely as gasoline. But if he was serious that I could take my pick and drive it out of here, there was only one choice for me: the cherry red 1955 Ford Bronco.”
―
Rocky road or pistachio?
Like my Corvette sitting back in the shop, he had a penchant for American-made classics, the ones Detroit had long-since forgotten it once knew how to make. Slowly, I walked around looking at each one—the acid green Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes, the powder blue Ford Fairlane, the black Chevy Bel-Airâ€� each in pristine condition and only because his blood and sweat coursed through them as surely as gasoline. But if he was serious that I could take my pick and drive it out of here, there was only one choice for me: the cherry red 1955 Ford Bronco.”
―
“She turned and smiled. “Kitchen-sink pasta.â€�
“My favorite. But you really ought to come up with a better name for it than kitchen-sink pasta. Sounds only slightly more appealing than bathtub gefilte fish.�
She shuddered. “Who in god’s name would make bathtub gefilte fish?�
“I dated a Jewish girl whose grandmother made it,â€� I laughed.”
―
“My favorite. But you really ought to come up with a better name for it than kitchen-sink pasta. Sounds only slightly more appealing than bathtub gefilte fish.�
She shuddered. “Who in god’s name would make bathtub gefilte fish?�
“I dated a Jewish girl whose grandmother made it,â€� I laughed.”
―

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