Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages.
The trouble with writing a book about yourself is that you can't fool around. If you write about someone else, you can stretch the truth from here to Finland. If you write about yourself the slightest deviation makes you realize instantly that there may be honor among thieves, but you are just a dirty liar.
A human life, I think, should be well rooted in some area of native land where it may get the love of tender kinship from the earth, for the labors men go forth to, for the sounds and accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that early home a familiar unmistakable difference amidst the future widening of knowledge. The best introduction to astronomy is to think of the nightly heavens as a little lot of stars belonging to one's own homestead.
Every lesson is a widening and deepening of consciousness. It is a stretching of the mind beyond its conceptual limits and a stretching of the heart beyond its emotional boundaries. It is a bringing of unconscious material into consciousness, a healing of past wounds, and a discovery of new faith and trust.
Many people hold onto a grudge because it offers the illusion of power and a perverse feeling of security. But in fact, we are held hostage by our anger. It is never too late to forgive. But you can forgive too soon. I am especially wary of what I call saintly forgiveness. Premature forgiveness is common among people who avoid conflict. They're afraid of their own anger and the anger of others. But their forgiveness is false. Their anger goes underground. I define forgiving as letting someone back into your heart. This returns us to a loving state -- and not merely within the relationship -- we feel good about ourselves and the world. True forgiveness isn't easy, but it transforms us significantly. To forgive is to love and to feel worthy of love. In that sense, it is always worthwhile.
Play the glass,Perform the glassWith a motion of the glass,with one breath,a multitude of tones are played on the glassThe glass like a living bodygrows and changes its formAll th shapes played by the glass resound with beautyWhen blowing the glass I feel like a maestroThen suddenly come to myselfand I am just a child playing with soap bubbles
I don't believe in it. All writing is difficult. The most you can hope for is a day when it goes reasonably easily. Plumbers don't get plumber's block, and doctors don't get doctor's block; why should writers be the only profession that gives a special name to the difficulty of working, and then expects sympathy for it?http://www.philip-pullman.com/about_the_writing.asp
I think of you oftenand make no outward show,But what it means to lose you, no one will ever knowYou wished no one farewell, not even said good-bye,You were gone before I knew it,and only God knows why.You are not forgottennor will you ever be,As long as life and memories last, I will remember thee.To some you may be forgotten, to others a part of the past,But to me who loved you dearly, your memories will always last.Nothing can be more beautifulthan the memories I have of you.To me, you were someone special,God must have thought so too!If tears could build a staircase and memories a lane,I would walk all the way to Heaven,and bring you back again.