I Wait For The Morning Of My

Is It Not Enough That We Cannot Make One Another Happy, Must We Also Rob One Another Of The Pleasures That Any Heart May Permit Itself Now And Then? And Name Me A Person Who In A Bad Mood Will Be Decent Enough To Hide It, To Bear It Alone, Without Destroying The Joy Around Him. Is It Not Rather An Inner Dissatisfaction With Our Own Unworthiness, A Dislike Of Ourselves That Is Always Associated With Envy Aggravated By Foolish Conceit? We See People Happy And Not Made Happy By Us, And That Is Unbearable.

We Are Forced To Participate In The Games Of Life Before We Can Possibly Learn How To Use The Options In The Rules Governing Them.

There Is Nothing In The World More Pitiable Than An Irresolute Man, Oscillating Between Two Feelings, Who Would Willingly Unite The Two And Who Does Not Perceive That Nothing Can Unite Them

Do Thine Own Task, And Be Therewith Content.

Merely To Breathe Freely Does Not Mean To Live.