Every now and then you have like a realization moment where you get goosebumps and think, “I am literally the luckiest person in the world.
Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue
The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.
Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.
Fools admire, but men of sense approve.
Envy will merit as its shade pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true.
I need to write down my observations. Even the tiniest ones; they're the most important.
God lies ahead. I convince myself and constantly repeat to myself that: He depends on us. It is through us that God is achieved.
My dad was a surgeon in Egypt. He was a general surgeon. As a little boy I always admired what he was doing, and I wanted to do surgery.
But it seems to me that a man cannot and ought not to say that he loves, he said. Why not? I asked. Because it will always be a lie. As though it were a strange sort of discovery that someone is in love! Just as if, as soon as he said that, something went snap-bang - he loves. Just as if, when he utters that word, something extraordinary is bound to happen, with signs and portents, and all the cannons firing at once. It seems to me, he went on, that people who solemnly utter those words, 'I love you,' either deceive themselves, or what's still worse, deceive others.