We are imprisoned in the realm of life, like a sailor on his tiny boat, on an infinite ocean.
From Anna Freud
My different personalities leave me in peace now.
Why do we go around acting as though everything was friendship and reliability when basically everything everywhere is full of sudden hate and ugliness?
If some longing goes unmet, don't be astonished. We call that Life.
We are aware only of the empty space in the forest, which only yesterday was filled with trees.
Sometimes the most beautiful thing is precisely the one that comes unexpectedly and unearned, hence something given truly as a present.
If I have a stupid day, everything looks wrong to me.
How can one know anything at all about people?
What I have always wanted for myself is much more primitive. It is probably nothing more than the affection of the people with whom I am in contact, and their good opinion of me.
Everything becomes so problematic because of basic faults: from a discontent with myself.
2 perspectives
1 perspectives