You shape your perceptions$$$ or someone shapes them for you. You do what you want to do$$$ or you respond to someone elses plan for you.

Take the opportunity to learn from your mistakes: find the cause of your problem and eliminate it. Don't try to be perfect; just be an excellent example of being human.

Then suddenly you're left all alone<br>with your body that can't love you<br>and your will that can't save you.

At first the solitude charmed me like a prelude$$$ but so much music wounded me.

Isn't it time that$$$ loving$$$ we freed ourselves from the beloved$$$ and$$$ trembling$$$ endured: as the arrow endures the bow$$$ so as to be$$$ in its flight$$$ something more than itself?

The dewy night unrolls a heaven thickly jewelled with sparkling stars.

Everything in the world of things and animals is still filled with happening$$$ which you can take part in.

It seems to me that the only way one can be helpful is to extend one's hand to someone else involuntarily$$$ and without ever knowing how useful this will be.

That is fundamentally the only courage which is demanded of us: to be brave in the face of the strangest$$$ most singular and most inexplicable things that can befall us.

Writing is the painting of the voice.