Men understand soon the reason for existence. Maybe that is the reason why they desist equally soon. But that is how the world goes.
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Men understand soon the reason for existence. Maybe that is the reason why they desist equally soon. But that is how the world goes.
Stay crazy and behave like normal people.
He who is wise is only so because he loves. It is he who is a fool, he is only like that because he thinks he understands love.
The mirror reflects perfectly; it makes no mistakes because he doesn't think.
When someone sees the same people every day, as had happened with him at the seminary, they wind up becoming a part of that person's life. And then they want the person to change. If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.
Every warrior of light has felt afraid of going into battle.
Every warrior of light has, at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.
Every warrior of light has trodden a path that was not his.
Every warrior of light has suffered for the most trivial of reasons.
Every warrior of light has, at least once, believed that he was not a warrior of
light.
Every warrior of light has failed in his spiritual duties.
Every warrior of light has said 'yes' when he wanted to say 'no'.
Every warrior of light has hurt someone he loved.
That is why he is a warrior of light, because he has been through all this and
yet has never lost hope of being better than he is.
Writing os one of the most solitary activities in the world. Once every two years, I sit in front of my computer, I observe my soul's unknown ocean and I see a few islands - ideas which are developing and that are ready to be explored. And so I take my boat - its name is "Word" - and I choose to sail towards the closest of them. On the journey, I come across currents, winds and storms, but I go on rowing, growing more tired. I am conscious of being off route, of not having on the horizon the island I wanted to reach anymore. All the same there is no way of going back: I have to continue anyway, or I shall find myself lost amidst the ocean. At that moment a series of terrifying images cross my mind: I that spend the rest of my life talking of previous success, or sourly crticizing new writers for the simple fact of not having the courage of publishing any new material. But wasn't my dream that of being a writer? Therefore I must go on creating sentences, paragraphs, chapters and Wrtiting to exhaustion, without letting myself be paralized by success, by defeat, by traps along the way.
Shaken by such absurd thoughts, I find within myself a strength and courage of which I ignored the existence: they help me to adventure to the boundless side of my soul. I let myself be carried by the currents and I end up anchoring my boat in the proximity of the island to where I have been taken. I spend days and nights wrtiting what I see, asking myself why am I acting this way, repeating to myself every moment why this effort has become useless, that I have no nedd to prove anything to anyone, that I have already obtained what I wanted and a lot more of what I could possibly dream of.
There are some things in life that are worth fighting for to the end. You are worth it.
It's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.
You don't need to pretend you're strong, you mustn't always show that everything is going fine, you can't worry about what others think, if you should feel the need to cry do so because crying is good, to the last tear, because only then you can go back to smiling.