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That's what happens when people reach old age; nobody remembers they've been bastards too.
Those were the words she wanted to hear and she finally surrendered to the temptation of believing them.
In those days, Christmas still retained a certain aura of magic and mystery. The powdery light of winter, the hopeful expressions of people who lived among shadows and silence, lent that setting a slight air of promise in which at least children and those who had learned the art of forgetting could still believe.
Everything can be forgiven in this world, save telling the truth.
People with a meagre soul always try to make others feel small too.
Deep down we've never been who we think we once were, and we only remember what never happened.
None of us are what we once were.
I've always thought that anyone who needs to join a herd so badly must be a bit of a sheep himself.
His soul is in his stories. I once asked him who inspired him to create his characters, and his answer was no one. That all his characters were himself.
I leafed through the pages, inhaling the enchanted scent of promise that comes with all new books, and stopped to read the start of a sentence that caught my eye.
[H]e lay awake, dreading the dawn when he would have to say good-bye to the small universe he had built for himself over the years.
Does the madman know he is mad? Or are the madmen those who insist o. Convincing him of his unreason in order to safeguard their own idea of reality?
The truth is what hurts
Everything in life in nonsense. it's just a question of persepctive
There are two things in life you cannot choose. The first is your enemies; the second your family. Sometimes the difference between them is hard to see, but in the end time will show you that the cards you have been dealt could always have been worse.
Who are the lunatics? The ones who see horror in the heart of their fellow humans and search for peace at any price? Or the ones who pretend they don't see what's going on around them? The world belongs either to lunatics or hypocrites. There are no other races on this earth. You must choose which one to belong to.
Delving into the past had unveiled a cruel lesson - that in the book of life it is perhaps best not to turn back pages; it was a path on which, whatever direction we took, we'd never be able to choose our own destiny.
The fact is that nothing is more difficult to believe than the truth; conversely, nothing seduces like the power of lies, the greater the better. It's only natural, and you will have to find the right balance. Having said that, let me add that this particular old woman hasn't been collecting only years; she has also collected stories, and none sadder or more terrible than the one she's about to tell you. You have been at the heart of this story without knowing it until today.
Whoever said that childhood is the happiest time of your life is a liar, or a fool.
Wine turns the wise man into a fool and the fool into a wise man.
Keep your dreams, you never know when you might need them.
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