altruism

Male writers who never find the stabilizing force of an understanding woman in their lives usually end up as the jaded figures of their days, the types who give much artistic expression to the world, but who are lonely in their overcrowded worlds of love.

The narrow-minded find it convenient to create stereotypes, and then try to fit everybody, everything and every situation into those stereotypes.

There are people who bring joy to our lives, but who fail to make us happy. They are the people for the moment. Never rely on their love because it is not sustainable. Their love is alike a comet that illuminates the sky, but then fades away because it lacks the sustainable energy of the sun.

When somebody you love dies, a phase of life__ innocence dies with that person, and a part of you dies as well.

We always emerge from the death of a loved one like a phoenix arising from its funeral pyre.

We need the wisdom to accept the fact that this world abounds with issues we cannot solve; and we need to part ways with those people, ideas and things that are a vexation to the soul.

Kindness is a source of relief to the soul of the giver, creating a sense of fortitude that is incomprehensible to those who do not know what kindness is all about.

Writers are the most pathetic souls when it comes to expressing their personal feelings. Their personalities are as complex as the characters they have weaved. And in a curious way, without them really knowing it, writers are the sum total of the characters they created in their heads or in their writings. Yes, My Dear Tania; writers are capable of reflecting their characters, even though most of them are determined to be just like your ordinary guy next door.

A writer needs a partner who can act as fuel to his artistic mind, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

In the world of today, human desires far supersede human needs. Waste, as you can see, is the result of all of those contradictions. That is how we ended up complicating our world.

In today__ world, human desires far supersede human needs. Waste, as you can see, is the result of that disparity.

_a writer, like most artists, needs a partner who can act as the fuel to his artistic mind and soul, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

Some honest people think it is better to know the ways of the devil without being evil.

_our recollections bring out our joyful smiles, but hardly make us chortle or guffaw; our recollections often leave imprints on our faces that show our regrets, but they hardly produce sounds that echo the depth of those regrets.

When we tend to be too hard on those we love, we erode the softness of our souls in the process, taking out the humanity within us that is the nucleus of our goodness, even if our actions are for their own sake.

The selfish and self-centered have a hard time being kind, even though you and I know that kindness is a source of relief to the soul.

The writer is the cursed artist of the soul. The expression of his art is a reflection of his quest to understand man by unraveling the mysteries that have been haunting humankind from time immemorial. In the end of his journey to understand man, the writer becomes more human even though his soul ends up finding less peace.

Perhaps fate has a way of turning things around and making something good out of the action of someone who failed humanity without meaning to.