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On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken,
amazed to see where I have come,
where I'm going, where I'm from.This is not the path I thought.
This is not the place I sought.
This is not the dream I bought,
just a fever a fate I've caught.I'll change highways in a while
at the crossroads, one more mile.
My path is lit by my own fire.
I'm going only where I desire.On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken.
One day, walking, I awaken,
on the road that I have taken.
Who is more foolish - the child afraid of the dark or the man afraid of the light?
There's no use wasting energy being afraid of devils, demons, and things that go bump in the night ...because ultimately, we'll never encounter anything more terrifying than the monsters among us. Hell is where we make it.
She knew the worst was never behind us. The worst came at the end. It was the end, the very fact of it. Nothing could be worse than that. But she had learned to live with the understanding that the worst was never behind her - and still find joy in the day at hand.
So it is with any experience that human beings share. Each participant perceives it in a different lesson than do his or her compatriots
We sense that life is a dark comedy and maybe we can live with that. However, because the whole thing is written for the entertainment of the gods, too many of the jokes go right over our heads.
Was God in error to have made His only begotten Child a man? Should Christ have been a woman? Were not women those who had suffered the most and therefore served as the greatest symbol of self-sacrifice, grace and tenderness? God had granted woman a special sensitivity, a talent for understanding and tenderness, for caring and nurturing - then had dumped them into a world of savage violence in which their singular qualities made them easy target for the cruel and depraved.
What you feel always carries a lot more weight than what you know, emotion matters more than intellect
Life is an unrelenting comedy. Therein lies the tragedy of it
I've already heard these stories before...only thing is, the names sound different.
From barren sands to verdant fields, from city streets to lonely worlds, cries the tortured human heart, seeking solace, wisdom, a chart by which to understand its plight
Death is a banker. Everyone pays.
In the real world, as in dreams, nothing is quite what it seems
We're a twisted species...we mean well and we want to do good for each other...but there's this darkness in us, this taint and we've got to struggle against it every minute, struggle against letting the taint spread and overwhelm us and we do struggle, but sometimes we lose.
Surely no one is born to love but once and never again, even if fate carried that first love to an early grave. If creation operated on rules that stern, God has built a cold, bleak universe. Surely love - and all emotions - are in one regard like muscles: growing stronger with exercise, withering when not used.
Somehow we've allowed ourselves to be ruled by the greediest and most envious among us [reference: politicians]
The promise of the grave is usually so well concealed by the mask of life.
In the fields of life, a harvest
sometimes comes far out of season,
when we thought the earth was old
and could see no earthly reason
to rise for work at break of dawn,
and put our muscles to the test.With winter here and autumn gone,
it just seems best to rest, to rest.
But under winter fields so cold,
wait the dormant seeds of seasons
unborn, and so the heart does hold
hope that heals all bitter lesions.In the fields of life, a harvest.
Life is a gift that must be given back,
and joy should arise from its possession.
It’s too damned short, and that’s a fact.
Hard to accept, this earthly procession
to final darkness is a journey done,
circle completed, work of art sublime,
a sweet melodic rhyme, a battle won.Death is no fearsome mystery,
He is well known to thee and me.
He hath no secrets he can keep
To trouble any good man’s sleep.Turn not thy face from death away.
Care not he takes our breath away.
Fear him not, he’s not thy master,
rushing at thee faster, faster.Not thy master but servant to
the Maker of thee, what or Who
created Death, created thee
--and is the only mystery.
Those who would banish the sin of greed
embrace the sin of envy as their creed.
Those who seek to banish envy as well,
only draw elaborate new maps of hell.Those with passion to change the world,
look on themselves as saints, as pearls,
and by the launching of noble endeavour,
flee dreaded introspection forever
At the point where hope and reason part,
lies the spot where madness gets a start.Hope to make the world kinder and free--
but flowers of hope root in reality.No peaceful bed exists for lamb and lion,
unless on some world out beyond Orion.Do not instruct the owls to spare the mice.
Owls acting as owls must is not a vice.Storms do not respond to heartfelt pleas.
All the words of men can’t calm the seas.Nature--always beneficent and cruel--
won’t change for a wise man or a fool.Mankind shares all Nature’s imperfections,
clearly visible to casual inspections.Resisting betterment is the human trait,
The ideal of utopia is our tragic fate.
Every eye sees it’s own special vision;
every ear hears a most different song.
In each man’s troubled heart, an incision
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong.
Stranger fiends hide here in human guise
than reside in the valleys of Hell.
But goodness, kindness and love arise
in the heart of the poor beast, as well.
Life without meaning
cannot be borne.
We find a mission
to which we’re sworn
--or answer the call
of Death’s dark horn.Without a gleaning
of purpose in life,
we have no vision,
we live in strife
--or let blood fall
on a suicide knife.
Nowhere can a secret keep
always secret, dark and deep,
half so well as in the past,
buried deep to last, to last.Keep it in your own dark heart,
otherwise the rumours start.After many years have buried
secrets over which you worried,
no confidant can then betray
all the words you didn’t say.
Only you can then exhume
secrets safe within the tomb
of memory, of memory,
within the tomb of memory.
Is there some meaning to this life?
What purpose lies behind this strife?
Whence do we come, where are we bound?
These cold questions echo and resound
through each day, each lonely night.
We long to find the splendid light
that will cast a revelatory beam
upon the meaning of the human dream.
Courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy lift us above the simple beasts and define humanity.
Rush headlong and hard at life
Or just sit at home and wait.
All things good and all the wrong
Will come to you: it’s fate.
Everything that deceives also enchants.
If you tend the flame of memory, no one’s death is an immediate banishment from the world; in some sense the deceased will live on after their passing, at least as long as those who loved them lives. Such memories are an essential weapon against the chaos of life and death, a way to ensure some continuity from generation to generation, an endorsement of order and of meaning.
Living in the modern age,
death for virtue is the wage.So it seems in darker hours.
Evil wins, kindness cowers.Ruled by violence and vice
We all stand upon thin ice.Are we brave or are we mice,
here upon such thin, thin ice?Dare we linger, dare we skate?
Dare we laugh or celebrate,
knowing we may strain the ice?Preserve the ice at any price?
When tempest tossed,
embrace chaos.Faraway in China,
the people sometimes say,
life is often bitter
and all too seldom gay.Bitter as dragon tears,
great cascades of sorrow
flood down all the years,
drowning our tomorrow’s.Faraway in China,
the people also say,
life is sometimes joyous
if all too often gray.Although life is seasoned
with bitter dragon tears,
seasoning is just a spice
within the brew of years.Bad times are only rice,
tears are one more flavour,
that give us sustenance,
something we can savour.
Kids knew that life was scary, dark and strange, but they also knew that it was silly, that it was meant to be fun. That it was an adventurous journey down a long road of time to an unknown destination in a far and wondrous place.
A noble end cannot remain purely noble if arrived at by immoral means.
Why did He make mice to torment people and cats to kill the mice? Why did He create aphids that kill plants and then ladybugs to eat the aphids? And why didn’t He give us eyes in the back our heads when He gave us so many reasons to need them there. God works in mysterious ways.
Madness favours darkness, but light is the kingdom of reason. If the waking world provides no sanctuary from nightmares, if daylight offers no sanctuary from unreason, then there is no sanctuary anywhere, anytime, for anyone.
Why worry about tomorrow? Who knows what will hit you today?
Everyone knows that life is too short, but most people push that thought out of mind, living as if there are endless tomorrows. If most people aren’t able to deceive themselves about death, they could not have cared so passionately about the outcome of a ballgame, the plot of a soap opera, the blatherings of politicians, or a thousand other things that actually mean nothing when considered against the inevitable fall of the endless night that finally comes to everyone. They could not endure to waste a minute standing in a supermarket line and would not suffer hours in the company of bores or fools. Maybe a world lay beyond this one, maybe even heaven, but you couldn’t count on it; you could count on only darkness. Self-deception in this case is a blessing. Nobody could buy the illusion of immortality that serves most people as a defence against the unthinkable.
Madmen never doubt their sanity.
The important thing is the tale, the well-told tale, not he who tells it.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Human beings were not meant for solitude, lonely struggles; the very essence of the species is it’s need to give and receive, friendship, affection, love.
The things that separate us from the beasts are courage, love, friendship, comp-assion and empathy.
May this sleep be only a little dream between this world and something better.
There are more things in Heaven and earth than dreamt about in our philosophy.
Why is it we can never recall the exact moment that love begins but always know when it ends?
Nothing lasts forever;
Even love’s a lie,
A tool for manipulation;
There’s no God beyond the sky.
A man’s commitment to others, especially to friends and family, can never be excessive. Never allow your sense of responsibility to obstruct with your ability to cope with failure. The fault lay not in the man himself but in the role of fate.
