Fear is a disease that eats away at logic and makes man inhuman.
You don't run against a bloody stop watch, do you hear? A runner runs against himself, against the best that's in him. Not against a dead thing of wheels and pulleys. That's the way to be great, running against yourself. Against all the rotten mess in the world. Against God, if you're good enough.
To a crisis of the spirit, we need an answer of the spirit.To find that answer, we need only look within ourselves.When we listen to the better angels of our nature, we find that they celebrate the simple things, the basic things--such as goodness, decency, love, kindness.Greatness comes in simple trappings.
Every human being on this earth is born with a tragedy, and it isn't original sin. He's born with the tragedy that he has to grow up. That he has to leave the nest, the security, and go out to do battle. He has to lose everything that is lovely and fight for a new loveliness of his own making, and it's a tragedy. A lot of people don't have the courage to do it.
It doesn't bother meThat less than brimming is my cup.Today is crowned with great success!Look at me! I'm up!My first blessing of the day:I'm up!I'm up, and I'm sober;And if nothing of the good happensFor the rest of the day,Before I put my head on a pillow tonight,I can say,'Thank you God, for those two blessings.'
Another piece of advice: when you proofread cross out as many adjectives and adverbs as you can. You have so many modifiers that the reader has trouble understanding and gets worn out. It is comprehensible when I write: The man sat on the grass, because it is clear and does not detain one's attention. On the other hand, it is difficult to figure out and hard on the brain if I write: The tall, narrow-chested man of medium height and with a red beard sat down on the green grass that had already been trampled down by the pedestrians, sat down silently, looking around timidly and fearfully. The brain can't grasp all that at once, and art must be grasped at once, instantaneously. And then one other thing; you are lyrical by nature. The timber of your soul is soft. If you were a composer you would avoid writing marches. It is unnatural for your talent to curse, shout, taunt, denounce with rage. Therefore, you'll understand if I advise you, in proofreading, to eliminate the sons of bitches, curs, and flea-bitten mutts that appear here and there on the pages of Life.