But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.
But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.
Everything has to evolve or else it perishes.
I began to know that each morning reasserted the problems of night before, that sleep suspended all but changed nothing, that you couldn't make yourself over between dawn and dusk.
I did no know everything there was to know about myself, and knew that I did not know it.
I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.
It seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their special stupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart
It was hard to remember in the heavy and sensual clarity of these mornings; I forgot whom I hated and who hated me. I wanted to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because these mornings were too full of beauty for me, because I knew of too much hate to be contained in a world like this.
Looking back now across fifteen years I could see with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it.
Sarcasm... the protest of those who are weak.
So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.
Stranded in this mill town railroad yard while the whole world was converging elsewhere, we seemed to be nothing but children playing among heroic men.
There was no harm in taking aim, even if the target was a dream.
This was the tree, and it seemed to me standing there to resemble those men, the giants of your childhood, whom you encounter years later and find that they are not merely smaller in relation to your growth, but they are absolutely smaller, shrunken by age. In this double demotion the old giants have become pygmies while you were looking the other way.
All of them, all except Phineas, constructed at infinite cost to themselves these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way-if he ever attacked at all; if he was indeed the enemy.
But I was used to finding something deadly in things that attracted me; there was always something deadly lurking in anything I wanted, anything I loved.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories