It bugs me when people are unnecessarily mean. Like, you didn’t have to make that comment. You could have just kept your mouth shut and left that person not feeling bad about themselves. What do you gain from making someone else feel like shit? Nothing of substance. Maybe a fleeting moment of power but that’s gone as soon as it comes so why? There’s enough unhappiness in the world without you adding to it.
We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.
You have within you more love than you could ever understand.
People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel like that they don’t deserve them, or that they’ll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren’t, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly.
I wish I had a revolutionary spirit. That “fuck it” go all out type of personality…I feel like I’m not living up to my potential…like I could be doing bigger and better things in life…But I’m enslaved by fear, of failure, of the unknown…like a lot of people are… I don’t want to be another pawn in the game…but that’s how it things are looking for me right now.
A woman who writes has power, and a woman with power is feared.
“I was recently told of an African tribe that does the most beautiful thing.
When someone does something hurtful and wrong, they take the person to the center of town, and the entire tribe comes and surrounds him. For two days they’ll tell the man every good thing he has ever done.
The tribe believes that every human being comes into the world as GOOD, each of us desiring safety, love, peace,
happiness.But sometimes in the pursuit of those things people make mistakes. The community sees misdeeds as a cry for help.
They band together for the sake of their fellow man to hold him up, to reconnect him with his true Nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth from which he’d temporarily been disconnected: “I AM GOOD”.”
Photo by Hugh Sitton (Getty Images)
You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.
Work is the only device I know of. Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade, just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself. Even Joyce, our most extreme disregarder, was a superb craftsman; he could write Ulysses because he could write Dubliners. Too many writers seem to consider the writing of short stories as a kind of finger exercise. Well, in such cases, it is certainly only their fingers they are exercising.
Be with her because you actually want to be with her, because you actually see a potential future with her, not because you are used to being with her, not because you’re scared of the thought that being without them will ruin you. The point of being in a relationship is to enjoy each other’s company, is to be there to support each other when they need it most. No one person, defines who you are. They only compliment you.