There is no real pursuit of life that can wreak havoc within the conundrums that are born from fatalities. We are merely born to exude and portray our actions, emotions, thoughts, opinions, moral sentiments. A people of constraints divorced from the longitude that is entering that of another– Broken, inside, outside, yet we fix ourselves to the world and hope that they will see us for who we truly are.
Words by Henry Miller
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
― Henry Miller
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