I'm out on the tiles

I want the happiness that money can’t buy. The happiness that comes from watching the sunset as the ocean kisses your toes or gazing up at the stars at 2am on your balcony with nothing but a blanket and your thoughts. The happiness that comes from driving down the highway with the windows all the way down or dancing around your room to your favorite song. The happiness from tea and a good book on a Monday morning or from watching the flames of a summer bonfire surrounded by the laughs of your almost drunk friends. The happiness that you feel but can’t touch, that’s the happiness I want.

The most common form of despair is not being who you are.

"Don’t you find it odd," she continued, "that when you’re a kid, everyone, all the world, encourages you to follow your dreams. But when you’re older, somehow they act offended if you even try."

Why are we worn out? Why do we, who start out so passionate, brave, noble, believing, become totally bankrupt by the age of thirty or thirty-five? Why is it that one is extinguished by consumption, another puts a bullet in his head, a third seeks oblivion in vodka, cards, a fourth, in order to stifle fear and anguish, cynically tramples underfoot the portrait of his pure, beautiful youth? Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise, and, having lost one thing, we do not seek another? Why?