If you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can't stop you, then you become something else entirely, a legend.
"If you can only live by holding onto that ideal, drown in your ideals
You're a prisoner of your ideals
Just a prisoner of your materialistic ideals.
You're a prisoner of your worthless ideals.
— ... I didn't bail on you. I got arrested.
— Oh, and here I thought you were just a jerk. Turns out you're also a criminal!
— I didn't even do anything. The charges were dropped. So let it go.
— Don't.
— Then what do you want from me?
— Nothing. I've seen red flags from you ever since I met you. In fact, you look like Communist China!
— What the hell am I doing here? It's like talking to a brick wall. You make up your mind, and that's that!
— Don't turn this around on me. I didn't do anything wrong.
— Oh, of course not. You're perfect.
— I am not.
— Have fun up here in your perfect world all by your perfect self.
I'm no longer striving for an ideal. I just want to make the best of a good thing, that's enough to make me happy.
When you aim for perfection, you discover it's a moving target.
— What are you looking for? Who's your perfect guy?
— Well, first of all, he's too humble to know he's perfect.
— That's me.
— He's intelligent, supportive, funny...
— Intelligent, supportive, funny. Me, me, me.
— He's romantic and courageous.
— Me also.
— He's got a good body but he doesn't have to look in the mirror every two minutes.
— I have a great body, and sometimes I go months without looking.
— He's kind, sensitive and gentle. He's not afraid to cry in front of me.
— This is a man we're talking about, right?
— He likes animals, children, and he'll change poopy diapers.
— Does he have to use the word «poopy»?
— Oh, and he plays an instrument, and he loves his mother.
— I am really close on this one. Really, really close.
I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic.
There are no perfect men in this world... only perfect intentions.
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