What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.
. . .and every native has a story of winter _ stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It__ a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we feel superior to those who have the sense to live elsewhere.
A Perfect Day
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. . .and every native has a story of winter _ stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It__ a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we feel superior to those who have the sense to live elsewhere.
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As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.
Why is it that good always has to fight an uphill battle?"I thought for a moment, then said, "I don't know. Maybe that's the point. Good things are higher up.
All that's required for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.
Oh, had I, weak and faint of speech, words to teach my fellow-creatures the beauty and capabilities of man's mind; could I, or could one more fortunate, breathe the magic word which would reveal to all the power, which we all possess, to turn evil to good, foul to fair; then vice and pain would desert the new-born world!It is not thus: the wise have taught, the good suffered for us; we are still the same; and still our own bitter experience and heart-breaking regrets teach us to sympathize too feelingly with a tale like this.
Not every story is true. And sometimes the things that were wicked become the things that save us, and the things that were good doom us to misery and pain.