Posted by: Federico
in Quotes & Aphorisms (Life)
To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.
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To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.
Things do not change; we change.
[...] your Personal Legend. [...] It's what you've always wanted to do. Everyone, in the prime of their youth, know what their Personal Legend is. In that period of life everything is clear, everything is possible, and men are not afraid of dreaming and desiring all that they would like to see done in life. But then, as time goes by, a misterious force starts to try and demonstrate how impossible it is to actually realize the Personal Legend. They prepare your spirit and your will. Because a great truth exists on this planet: whoever you are or whatever you do, when you wish something willfully, and because this wish was born before the Universe's soul. That represents your mission on earth. [...]
A tidy desk is the sign of a sick mind.
Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.
On no morning of his life had he ever been in good spirits nor done any good before midday, nor ever had a happy idea, nor devised any pleasure for himself or others. By degrees during the afternoon he warmed and became alive, and only towards evening, on his good days, was he productive, active and, sometimes, aglow with joy. With this was bound up his need for loneliness and independence. There was never a man with a deeper and more passionate craving for independence than he. In his youth when he was poor and had difficulty in earning his bread, he preferred to go hungry and in torn clothes rather than endanger his narrow limit of independence. He never sold himself for money or an easy life or to women or to those in power; and had thrown away a hundred times what in the world's eyes was his advantage and happiness in order to safeguard his liberty. [...] In the beginning his dream and his happiness, in the end it was his bitter fate. The man of power is ruined by power, the man of money by money, the submissive man by subservience, the pleasure seeker by pleasure. He achieved his aim. He was ever more independent. He took orders from no man and ordered his ways to suit no man. Independently and alone, he decided what to do and to leave undone. For every strong man attains to that which a genuine impulse bids him seek. But in the midst of the freedom he had attained Harry suddenly became aware that his freedom was a death and that he stood alone.
Everyone will hurt you a bit in life, it's up to you to decide who's worth suffering for.
They run as if they had a fire under their backsides seeking for something they can't find.
It's basically fear of facing oneself,
it's basically fear of being alone.
Instead I fear the crowd...
He'd like to hibernate and tries to close his eyes but he knows hibernation only comes with winter, again he opens his eyes to the world, this world of two-legged monsters which are monsters all the more. Only one thing remains but to call his far off world, and so he does with all his breath but with ascending softness. I'd only like to save him, take him away on a train and leave him there, after the rain, under a rainbow.
Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?