“Where do they go, these dreams of mine? Do they live? Do they die? Do they fall? Do they fly?”
“Most people will spend their lives doing jobs that they don’t particularly enjoy, and will eventually save up enough money to stop doing those jobs just in time to start dying instead. Don’t be one of those people. There’s a difference between living, and just surviving. Do something that you love, and find someone to love who loves that you love what you do.
It really is that simple.
And that hard.” – John Connolly
I believe that most of us crave adventure. We want our lives to make us feel. We crave the bittersweet excitement brought on by uncertainty.
There are two types of dreamers: the first is very sensitive but creative and the second is very secretive but adaptive, and I think I am capable of being both.
Peace, Peace, peace
I walked around with a gun in my hand
Looking for Peace
Please, please, please
Would someone show me Peace?
I met a boy and I asked him
If he had any Peace
He said, “I only have a little drum for a toy
I play it all the time
It helps the day pass away
But Peace? No, Sir. I haven’t heard of that toy
You might as well go ahead and ask some other boy”
I went ahead with a gun in my hand
Looking for Peace[ pacet et bene]
Writers often lead strange lives, but sometimes that strangeness means they leave behind mysteries that the world is unable to solve. Barbara Newhall Follett was one such writer. Follett was born i…
A Collection of Articles, Poems and Short Stories
Even the sweet peppermint and frothy eggnog of winter couldn’t wash away Derek’s bitter fall. It was disappointing the moment it started with a massive snowstorm. Derek despised snow; the way it impeded everyone’s life reminded him of nature’s cold indifference.
Derek took a walk around the block of his apartment building. He was smiling again, slightly, but still. Christmas might not have ditched the fall which was bitter and coarse like Turkish coffee, but the memories associated with it temporarily vanished in the holiday cheer. He walked along a sidewalk that ran parallel to the city park in which he usually relaxed. Today he wanted to walk passed it but stopped abruptly. Derek heard the distant echo from fall embodied by the sound of a trombone. He forced himself to listen, but straining made him taste the grit of coffee. It was then, as he was straining, that he recalled his disappointment.
He wanted to turn back immediately,
Source: The Outsider | Writings By Ender