Other peoples’ opinion of you is their problem, not yours.
I’m in love with people’s hands and the way they clench their fists and the way their fingertips lightly press down onto piano keys or thighs. Calloused fingers or dainty fingers. Hands writing poems or memos or parking tickets. Hands writing futures. To me, every crease on the palm is a love line.
You are not free until you have no need to impress anybody.
"hey can you do me a favor?"