The carnage upon the chessboard of life, left wounded humans in its wake
The carnage upon the chessboard of life, left wounded humans in its wake
The human face has limited space. If you fill it with laughter there will be no room for crying.
The Law is a grim, unsmiling thing. Not Justice, though. Justice is witty and whimsical and kind and caring.
There didn't seem to her any harm in it, and the make-believe was so comforting.
What an unreliable thing is time--when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl's hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair. .... But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.
What sense did the world make? Where was God, the Bloody Fool? Did He have no notion of fair and unfair? Couldn't He read a simple balance sheet? He would have been sacked long ago if He were managing a corporation, the things he allowed to happen...
You cannot draw lines and compartments and refuse to budge beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair
Birth and death - what could be more monstrous than that? We like to deceive ourselves and call it wondrous and beautiful and majestic, but it's freakish, let's face it.
But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.
But so far, the invisible line was holding, separating the potential from its realization. Strange, that invisible lines could be so powerful, thought Maneck--strong as brick walls.
Flirting with madness was one thing; when madness started flirting back, it was time to call the whole thing off.
Hahnji, mister, you must be patient. Before you can name that corner, our future must become past.
He who spits paan at the ceiling only blinds himself.
If there was an abundance of misery in the world, there was also sufficient joy, yes - as long as one knew where to look for it.
Lately you are brooding too much about rights. Give up this dangerous habit.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories