ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ

“It occurs to me as I fight so hard with myself that these cruel and persistent voices are the echoes of trauma from the times when people treated me like I am now treating myself. And that, perhaps, it is possible to close an inner door and shut out voices that are not mine. In the last light of a long day, I sit on a chair on my porch and watch the sky drain colors down and out and I realize I want to hear my voice and only mine. Not the voice of my voice within a cacophony of old pains. Just mine, now.”

“There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.”

but when the day calls i will answer to my name claim it like a fire rushing toward living things i will rise    because there is someone praying for me to remain still

“And I seem to have such strength in me now, that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies—I exist. I’m tormented on the rack—but I exist! Though I sit alone on a post—I exist!”

She was consumed in the fire of her own spirit. Every word she spoke dripped with feeling. Her large dark eyes looked out on the world with a mixture of passionate resoluteness and brooding love;

“I came to love myself in defiance, out of despair, because there was nothing else.”

What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

We know the blood is brutal though it sings.

Nothing is harder to understand than a symbolic work. A symbol always transcends the one who makes use of it and makes him say in reality more than he is aware of expressing.

It is not enough to prove something, one has also to seduce or elevate people to it. That is why the man of knowledge should learn how to speak his wisdom: and often in such a way that it sounds like folly!