Traveling—it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.
We are not the stories we tell, but the spaces between them.
Your ability to remain focused and disciplined in pursuing your goals sets you on the path to success and separates you from the average.
You cannot teach a child any more than you can grow a plant. The plant develops its own nature. It also teaches itself, but you can help it to go forward in its own way. What you can do is to sow an aspiration-seed.
Comfort is no test of truth. Truth is often far from being comfortable.,Swami Vivekanand
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.
Traveling—it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.
We are not the stories we tell, but the spaces between them.
Your ability to remain focused and disciplined in pursuing your goals sets you on the path to success and separates you from the average.
You cannot teach a child any more than you can grow a plant. The plant develops its own nature. It also teaches itself, but you can help it to go forward in its own way. What you can do is to sow an aspiration-seed.
Comfort is no test of truth. Truth is often far from being comfortable.,Swami Vivekanand
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.