The scene seemed somehow divorced from reality, although reality, he knew, could at times be terribly unreal.
There can be no meaning in what will someday be lost. Passing glory is not true glory at all.
In his life, after all, he had achieved nothing, had been totally unproductive. He couldn’t make anyone else happy, and, of course, couldn’t make himself happy. Happiness? He wasn’t even sure what that meant. He didn’t have a clear sense, either, of emotions like pain or anger, disappointment or resignation, and how they were supposed to feel. The most he could do was create a place where his heart – devoid now of any depth or weight – could be tethered, to keep it from wandering aimlessly.
I’m not very good at putting my feelings into words. That’s why people misunderstand me.
You concentrate on waiting for someone and after a certain time it hardly matters what happens anymore. It could be five years or ten years or one month. It’s all the same.
To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm. This is the important thing for long-term projects. Once you set the pace, the rest will follow.
People are awkward creatures. A lot more awkward than you seem to realize.
The ones who did it can always rationalize their actions and even forget what they did. They can turn away from things they don’t want to see. But the surviving victims can never forget. They can’t turn away. Their memories are passed on from parent to child. That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.
I’m glad to know that time still keeps on flowing at four in the morning.
I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope.
Everything ended in silence. The beasts and spirits heaved a deep breath, broke up their encirclement, and returned to the depths of a forest that had lost its heart.
You’re still young, so that’s why you say that. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand how I feel. How much loneliness the truth can cause sometimes.
Memory can give warmth to time.
I, too, remember that feeling. You are caught between all that was and all that must be. You feel lost.
Just as you take care of the birds and the fields every morning, every morning I wind my own spring. I give it some thirty-six good twists by the time I’ve gotten up, brushed my teeth, shaved, eaten breakfast, changed my clothes, left the dorm, and arrived at the university. I tell myself, Ok, let’s make this day another good one.
In any case, I wrote, I’ve decided to make myself strong. As far as I can tell, that’s all I can do.
It seems as if, year after year, the world becomes a more difficult place to live.
Pain is what gives rise to meditation. It has nothing to do with age, let alone beards.
Perhaps this was the wisdom with which a child in her position survived: by minimizing her wounds – staying as small as possible, as nearly transparent as possible.
They dig holes from time to time,′ the Colonel explains. ‘It is probably for them what chess is for me. It has no special meaning, does not transport them anywhere. All of us dig at our own pure holes. We have nothing to achieve by our activities, nowhere to get to. Is there not something marvelous about this? We hurt no one and no one gets hurt. No victory, no defeat.