Nothing, but a story
be a great one.
Thoughts become words. Words that create our worlds.
We are the wealthiest of men ever to dream
And ever to combat a sea or a stream.
And the harbored ships that fritter away,
Slowly begin to rot and decay.
Never has there been a greater waste of a day,
Than that spent harbored,
Than those of us who stay.
- Gael Attal
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
Your thoughts construct patterns like scaffolding in your mind. You are really etching chemical patterns. In most cases, people get stuck in those patterns, just like grooves in a record, and they never get out of them.
Just about anything worth doing is worth doing better, which means, of course, that (at least at first) there will be failure. That’s not a problem (in the long run), it’s merely a step along the way.
If you’re not willing to get your ‘worst one ever’ out of the way, how will you possibly do better than that?
Nothing, but a story
be a great one.
neither created nor destroyed
like the winds still
the silent sound of these words rings:
we will live forever
Questions and answers are like Yin and Yang; both are part of the same construct. Opposites that give each other character. Just like a light that gives us knowledge about our surrounding darkness.
Caterpillars to get from one place to another by contracting and expanding to push forward. If you take the motion as an analogue for how ideas give way to better ones, questions are the contractions and answers are the expansions.
Questions make the unknown known and answers lead to better questions.
So a caterpillar goes on about its day. Voraciously feeding itself. Doing what it feels is right. Becoming the cocoon and eventually the butterfly. The butterfly causes a tornado. The tornado uproots a tree.
Moral of the story: Today you might feel like a little caterpillar. But keep pushing forward. Keep chewing through the bitter leaves. One day you will be flying. Sipping on nectar..
And one day, you’ll get there.
Don’t just like.
Like is watered down.
Like is mediocre.
Like is the wishy-washy emotion of the content.
Athletes don’t do it for the like of a sport.
Artists don’t suffer for the like of art.
There is no ‘I like N.Y t-shirt’.
And Romeo didn’t just like Juliet.
LOVE - now that’s powerful stuff.
Love changes things.
Love is at the root of everything good that has ever happened and will ever happen.
LOVE what you do.
Stardust, you and I
Had a little while together
In our infinite lives
Maybe we will bump into each other
but for now this is goodbye.
No single thing abides; but all things flow.
Fragment to fragment clings—the things thus grow
Until we know and name them. By degrees
They melt, and are no more the things we know.
Globed from the atoms falling slow or swift
I see the suns, I see the systems lift
Their forms; and even the systems and the suns
Shall go back slowly to the eternal drift.
Thou soo, oh earth—thine empires, lands, and seas—
Least, with thy stars, of all the galaxies,
Globed from the drift like these, like these thou too
Shalt go. Thou art going, hour by hour, like these.
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian grain—
A rose today. But you will ask in vain
Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday
It was the dust, the sunshine and the rain.
This bowl of milk, the pitch on yonder jar,
Are strange and far-bound travelers come from far
This is a snow-flake that was once a flame—
The flame was once the fragment of a star.
Where is the coolness when no cool winds blow?
Where is the music when the lute lies low?
Are not the redness and the red rose one,
And the snow’s whiteness one thing with the snow?
For, as our limbs and organs all unite
to make our sum of suffering and delight,
And without eyes and ears and touch and tongue,
Were no such things as taste and sound and sight.
The seeds that once were we take flight and fly,
Winnowed to earth, or whirled along the sky,
Not lost but disunited. Life lives on.
It is the lives, the lives, the lives, that die.
- Lucretius (translated by W. H. Mallock)
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