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Sometimes at night in bed I dream, dream of all my life could be and all I could do. I think about my future and the possibilities that lay before me. There is always a moment in this thought. A moment where I realize that in order to do it all, in order to really live and not merely exist, I cannot go on living the way I have done. I must fight it with all my strength.

— Lucy Sparrow (via selfinspiration)
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The Alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus. The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who daily knelt beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus. But this was not how the author of the book ended the story. He said that when Narcissus died, the Goddesses of the Forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears. “Why do you weep?” the Goddesses asked.
“I weep for Narcissus,” the lake replied.
“Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,” they said, “for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.”
“But….. was Narcissus beautiful?” the lake asked.
“Who better than you to know that?” the Goddesses said in wonder, “After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!!”
The lake was silent for some time.
Finally it said:
“I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.”
“What a lovely story,” the alchemist thought.

— PAULO COELHO, THE ALCHEMIST, PROLOGUE
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If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.

— E. B. WHITE
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Secrets have power. And that power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well. Sharing secrets, real secrets, important ones, with even one other person, will change them. Writing them down is worse, because who can tell how many eyes might see them inscribed on paper, no matter how careful you might be with it. So it’s really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.

— ERIN MORGENSTERN, THE NIGHT CIRCUS
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Do I contradict myself?
Very well, then, I contradict myself;
(I am large—I contain multitudes.)

— WALT WHITMAN, LEAVES OF GRASS
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I should be grateful, I should optimistic. But some days [too often] like today, it is really hard to trick myself into thinking I like it here.

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Sleep is death enjoyed.

— FRIEDRICH HEBBEL
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