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While she could hardly fathom what had just happened to her that night, she reached some conclusions before she fell asleep, certain things now made perfect sense; Moon River didn’t sound so syrupy, mistletoe wasn’t such a bad idea, and perhaps dating was not such a frivolous waste of time after all. ↗
#falling-in-love #funny-but-true #humour #humourosly-inspirational #love
Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; These come to me days and nights and go from me again, But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. ↗
You’re with a girl. She’s brown-haired and side-swept. I imagine that she’s the kind of girl who can easily shop for jean shorts, and speaks kindly more often than not. She seems like the kind of girl who hates New York City because it wreaks havoc on her shoes (really she just thinks it’s a big and scary place), but once had the time of her life in Spain on a backpacking trip when she was 23. Her gaze is focused on the embracing couple as near strangers capable of judgement. She stands bolted next to you like you’re her anchor in the social storm. You two seem finely matched… but what do I know? (Nothing at all.) I accidentally saw a picture of you and it reminded me that I was dating a man rightfully shaking his fist at God, while trying to hold my hand with the other. I was reminded of how fiercely we tried to hold our relationship together, and how devastated and relieved we were in its destruction. There’s water under that bridge. I accidentally saw a picture of you. No big deal. I wrote about it. ↗
I don't so much mind looking back on having lost the election, or having been denied a role in the play, or having had my novel repeatedly rejected, or having been turned down for a date, or recalling laughter at my expense when I attempted some silly challenge. Those things simply prove that I lived life. What I do mind, however, is looking back on the lost opportunities where imagined concerns kept me from even trying—lose or win. I've learned that there is no regret in a brave attempt. Only in cowering to fear. ↗
#bravery #doing #fear #fulfillment #goals
Anyhow, I had found something out about an unknown privation, and I realized how a general love or craving, before it is explicit or before it sees its object, manifests itself as boredom or some other kind of suffering. And what did I think of myself in relation to the great occasions, the more sizable being of these books? Why, I saw them, first of all. So suppose I wasn't created to read a great declaration, or to boss a palatinate, or send off a message to Avignon, and so on, I could see, so there nevertheless was a share for me in all that had happened. How much of a share? Why, I knew there were things that would never, because they could never, come of my reading. But this knowledge was not so different from the remote but ever-present death that sits in the corner of the loving bedroom; though it doesn't budge from the corner, you wouldn't stop your loving. Then neither would I stop my reading. I sat and read. I had no eye, ear, or interest for anything else--that is, for usual, second-order, oatmeal, mere-phenomenal, snarled-shoelace-carfare-laundry-ticket plainness, unspecified dismalness, unknown captivities; the life of despair-harness or the life of organization-habits which is meant to supplant accidents with calm abiding. Well, now, who can really expect the daily facts to go, toil or prisons to go, oatmeal and laundry tickets and the rest, and insist that all moments be raised to the greatest importance, demand that everyone breathe the pointy, star-furnished air at its highest difficulty, abolish all brick, vaultlike rooms, all dreariness, and live like prophets or gods? Why, everybody knows this triumphant life can only be periodic. So there's a schism about it, some saying only this triumphant life is real and others that only the daily facts are. For me there was no debate, and I made speed into the former. ↗
Nikt nie kaze ci isc dalej - powiedzial Wirus. - Mozna siedziec i czekac na smierc. Mozna przez cale zycie siedziec i czekac na smierc. To tez jest godne, jest honorowe, moze byc przyjemne, jesli ktos potrafi czerpac z tego przyjemnosc. Nikt nigdy nie powiedzial, ze tylko jak sie idzie naprzod, to dopelnia sie los czlowieka. Mozna korzystac z chwili, mozna sobie popijac winko czy wodke. Mozna tak siedziec. Mozna tak siedziec az do smierci... i nikt nie ma prawa zarzucic komukolwiek, ze robi zle, ze to nie tak, ze powinno sie robic inaczej.To nie jest niczyja sprawa. Mozna siedziec na trotuarze i czekac... Wszystko w porzadku. Wszystko w najlepszym porzadku. Robisz dobrze, robisz jak chcesz, robisz, co chcesz. Bo nie ma idealnej recepty na zycie. Kazda recepta dobra. Kazdy moze robic, co chce i nie bedzie zadnych pretensji. Kazdy jednak... kazdy moze tez wstac i ruszyc dalej. Mozna siedziec i czekac, co przyniesie los, mozna tez pojsc za najblizszy rog i zobaczyc, czy tam jest cos ciekawego. Kazdy moze ruszyc dalej i w tym wypadku rowniez nikt nie moze miec zadnych pretensji... ↗
#ciekawość #death #inspirational #life #los
Living in the past kills your future. ↗
#inspirational #life #motivational #moving-on #inspirational
