Pyrite

“There’s nothing to envy, Goldmund. There is no peace, in the sense which you mean it. No doubt there is a peace, but not that peace which abides, and never forsakes us. On earth there is only that peace which we must conquer over and over again, from day to day, in ever fresh assaults and victories. You have never seen me assailed. You know nothing of my doubts at study, my torments in my cell at prayers. It is good that you do not. All you can see is that I am less subject to moods than you, and so you think I must be at peace. But like every true life, it is all battle, and sacrifice. Like your life also, o amice.”

“When you give birth in your mind to the idea of compassion, it’s because you realize that you yourself and your pains and pleasures are finally too small a theater for your intelligence.”

I only walk away like I don’t give a damn because… well, was I supposed to? I mean I did, for a moment, and then as soon as I took that first step in the opposite direction it just hit me, I realized I simply didn’t.

“A sensitive person receives 50 impressions where somebody else may only get seven. Sensitive people are so vulnerable; the more sensitive you are, the more certain you are to be brutalized, develop scabs. Never evolve. Never allow yourself to feel anything, because you always feel too much.”

Growing up, I used to trust other people pretty much immediately if they were kind with me. The older I’ve grown however, the more I’ve become suspicious of adults acting kind towards me for seemingly no reason. Is it feedback from negative experiences, indoctrinated culture, or just paranoia? Probably a little of each.

The poetry of the earth is never dead.