If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what
everyone else is thinking.
Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe.
Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
Don't feel sorry for yourself. Only assholes do that.
I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do.
It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.
I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.
Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.