Artists are those who can evade the verbose.
Artists are those who can evade the verbose.
From my own experience, when someone is trying very hard to get something, they don't. And when they're running away from something as hard as they can, it usually catches up with them. I'm generalizing, of course.
I'll never see them again. I know that. And they know that. And knowing this, we say farewell.
Perhaps most people in the world aren't trying to be free, Kafka. They just think they are. It's all an illusion. If they really were set free, most people would be in a real pickle. You'd better remember that. People actually prefer not being free?
This place is too calm, too natural--too complete. I don't deserve it. At least not yet.
As long as there's such a thing as time, everybody's damaged in the end, changed into something else. It always happens, sooner or later.
Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story
I'm not a fast reader. I like to linger over each sentence, enjoying the style. If I don't enjoy the writing, I stop.
Reality's just the accumulation of ominous prophecies come to life. All you have to do is open a newspaper on any given day to weigh the good news versus the bad news, and you'll see what I mean.
As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around.
Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.
In dreams begins responsiblities.
Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.
Becoming a different person might be hard, but taking on a different name is a cinch.
Her smile steps offstage for a moment, then does an encore, all while I'm dealing with my blushing face.
In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion.
Symbolism and meaning are two separate things. I think she found the right words by bypassing procedures like meaning and logic. She captured words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly's wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can evade the verbose.
Beethoven, he learned, was a proud man who believed absolutely in his own abilities and never bothered to flatter the nobility. Believing that art itself, and the proper expression of emotions, was the most SUBLIME thing in the world, he thought political power and wealth only served one purpose: to make art possible.
I don't know what it means to live.
It feels like everything's been decided in advance that I'm following a path somebody else has already mapped out for me. It doesn't matter how much I think things over, how much effort I put into it. In fact, the harder I try, the more I lose my sense of who I am. It's like my identity's an orbit that I've strayed far away from, and that really hurts. But more than that, it scares me. Just thinking about it makes me flinch.
Taking crazy things seriously is a serious waste of time.
Beyond the edge of the world there's a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.
I don't think I'd want Mickey Mouse pimping for me anyway.
It must be though on you not being able to read, but it's not the end of the world. You might not be able to read, but there are things only you can do. That's what you gotta focus on - your strengths.
The Earth slowly keeps on turning. But beyond any of those details of the real, there are dreams. And everyone's living in them.
Both were rather precocious, and like many precocious young people they found it hard to grow up.
I go back to the reading room, where I sink down in the sofa and into the world of The Arabian Nights. Slowly, like a movie fadeout, the real world evaporates. I'm alone, inside the world of the story. My favourite feeling in the world.
It was a strange feeling, like touching a void.
The end of my penis is still a bit sore and stings a little when I take a leak. The tip's red. My fresh-from-the-foreskin cock is still plenty young and tender. Condensed sexual fantasies, Prince's slippery voice, quotes from all kinds of books-the whole confused mess swirls around in my brain, and my head feels like it's about to burst.
But intolerant,narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host,change form,and continue to thrive. They're a lost cause, and I don't want anyone like that coming in here.
I know I'm a little different from everyone else, but I'm still human being. That's what I'd like you to realize. I'm just a regular person, not some monster. I feel the same things everyone else does, act the same way. Sometimes, though, that small difference feels like an abyss. But I guess there's not much I can do about it.
It's all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine.
The journey I'm taking is inside me. Just like blood travels down veins, what I'm seeing is my inner self and what seems threatening is just the echo of the fear in my heart.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories