There is so much about my fate that I cannot control, but other things do fall under the jurisdiction. I can decide how I spend my time, whom I interact with, whom I share my body and life and money and energy with. I can select what I can read and eat and study. I can choose how I’m going to regard unfortunate circumstances in my life-whether I will see them as curses or opportunities. I can...
The world is a stage.
Et de ratage en ratage, on s’habitue à ne jamais dépasser le stade du brouillon. La vie n’est que l’interminable répétition d’une représentation qui n’aura jamais lieu. Failure teaches us that life is but a draft, an endless rehearsal of a show that will never play.
Ignorance is bliss.
He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past. -G.M.
For dreamers, night is the only time of day.
“This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.” -R.
And I'm still deciding.
“I am still so naïve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?” -S.P.
Une allée du Luxembourg.
C’est peut-etre la seule au monde dont le coeur au mien répondrait, qui, venant dans ma nuit profonde d’un seul regard l’éclaircirait… Perhaps she is alone on earth whose heart reached out to touch my own, who came to me in midst of night with just one look she brightened mine.
Down the river.
“There are books so alive that you’re always afraid that while you weren’t reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?”
“By the time a person has achieved years adequate for choosing a direction, the die is cast and the moment has long since passed which determined the future.”
The saddest song.
“She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.” - J.S.F.