friendship

When somebody you love dies, a phase of life__ innocence dies with that person, and a part of you dies as well.

We always emerge from the death of a loved one like a phoenix arising from its funeral pyre.

We need the wisdom to accept the fact that this world abounds with issues we cannot solve; and we need to part ways with those people, ideas and things that are a vexation to the soul.

Kindness is a source of relief to the soul of the giver, creating a sense of fortitude that is incomprehensible to those who do not know what kindness is all about.

Writers are the most pathetic souls when it comes to expressing their personal feelings. Their personalities are as complex as the characters they have weaved. And in a curious way, without them really knowing it, writers are the sum total of the characters they created in their heads or in their writings. Yes, My Dear Tania; writers are capable of reflecting their characters, even though most of them are determined to be just like your ordinary guy next door.

I turned to face Audrey, and everything I loved was right there in her eyes, the memories tangible: the schooldays and sleepovers, the cheap bottles of wine and sappy chick flicks. She was there for my mother__ drunken relapses, there to hold me until I fell asleep the first time the ex from Seattle hit me. It was all there, and my God, each memory was suddenly sacred and the sun rose and set upon it.

A writer needs a partner who can act as fuel to his artistic mind, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

In the world of today, human desires far supersede human needs. Waste, as you can see, is the result of all of those contradictions. That is how we ended up complicating our world.

In today__ world, human desires far supersede human needs. Waste, as you can see, is the result of that disparity.

_a writer, like most artists, needs a partner who can act as the fuel to his artistic mind and soul, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

Some honest people think it is better to know the ways of the devil without being evil.

When words can't make it better, hold my hand and don't let go.

_our recollections bring out our joyful smiles, but hardly make us chortle or guffaw; our recollections often leave imprints on our faces that show our regrets, but they hardly produce sounds that echo the depth of those regrets.

When we tend to be too hard on those we love, we erode the softness of our souls in the process, taking out the humanity within us that is the nucleus of our goodness, even if our actions are for their own sake.

The selfish and self-centered have a hard time being kind, even though you and I know that kindness is a source of relief to the soul.

The writer is the cursed artist of the soul. The expression of his art is a reflection of his quest to understand man by unraveling the mysteries that have been haunting humankind from time immemorial. In the end of his journey to understand man, the writer becomes more human even though his soul ends up finding less peace.

He was like the other half of myself,' says Boris...Ulrich says, 'You haven't lost {him}, you know. I don't know if it helps to say that. I lost a friend once myself, and I know how it goes.'He'll find his way inside you, and you'll carry him onward. Behind your heartbeat, you'll hear another one, faint and out of step. People will say you are speaking his opinons, or your hair has turned like his.'There are no more facts about him -- that part is over. Now is the time for essential things...Gradually you'll grow older than him, and love him as your son.'You'll live astride the line that separates life from death. You'll become experienced in the wisdom of grief. You won't wait until people die to grieve for them; you'll give them their grief while they are still alive, for then judgment falls away, and there remains only the miracle of being.

Perhaps fate has a way of turning things around and making something good out of the action of someone who failed humanity without meaning to.