Einstein used to say that an angry minute means sixty seconds less of happiness, the seconds my life have taken are enough, but I have no intention of taking away any more time to my happiness.
The past is "past" and from this present time we can only learn the lessons that life wants to give us, nothing more.
In life you must never be content, because it would only mean creating yourself happiness for what doesn't satisfy you.
In life everyone can be wrong, the importance lies in understanding ones mistakes, pull up ones sleeves and always being a better person than yesterday.
When I'm in the traffic
in the car
I feel like dying.
Surrounded by many vehicles
of middle and high power engines
I'm helpless
on what to do.
You can't turn
you can't turn back.
Once you've taken
the wrong road
you must wait until
you discover a road or an intersection
than can return you
on the right way.
Just like this damn
life we lead
submerged by a crowd of people
of middle and large deceiptfulness
I'm helpless
on how to act.
I can't avoid them because
destiny will always give them to you.
And so I must wait
for someone
to relight
simply a little smile
to continue the day
and end it like any other day.
This is certain, any event may break into your life it happens for a precise reason, nothing happens by chance.
Never expect anything from life. If you don't make the first move you'll always be waiting for something to happen and you hope it'll happen, it'll never come.
He asked for forgiveness to a God he wished closer, in earthly life always transposed trascendency, an internal dialogue for who always knew themselves as orphans. Forgiveness for not having been able to keep his promise. Commitment, help, understanding, comfort, trust, research, is this all Holy Matrimony? Intentions. Where there are intimacy, joy, projects, and where there are hands that caress a tense and shiny tummy, mental curves swallowing future. Since Claire had been with Claudio she'd always thought herself as a woman with a wiry shape, almost incompetent of swallowing future. Love is something yet different. Another home, not necessarily made of bricks. Claire wanted a family, she who had never had one, a normal one. She had been a particular case since she'd any conscience. And memory. Explaining to the other kids that she had a mother, but somewhere else, in the sky. Her father was there, somewhere else, far away. And there was her home, but non exactly hers, she lived with who took care of her. And her town was there, but somewhere else, because her roots were others. She found them in the warm stories made up for her by her relatives and adults. Warm like a winter fleece.
Life is too short for hatrid or begrudging, life is short for those who can't love. He who knows how to love and not how to hate lives.
Who can't find the key to leave the past will remain chained to the present with the impossiblity of accessing the future.