The same energies and dynamics that make roses flirt with bees, and cause squirrels to flinch at the sight of dogs, also drive and confine the mind – there in the muddled midst of basic, backyard consciousness.
What you think and speak of will lack a certain enjoyable, informative passion, if your material is not original.
The reason myths are of no interest to a real hero is because he is not in them.
One possible effect of knowing about the hot center in all lard typhoons, is that it can cause one to want to throw oneself into the Eternal Inferno, give oneself The Twelve Uncompleted Labors, and to become one’s own Sisyphus and recurring hill, with a stone of shrapnel and hands daily tender from anticipation.
A man mused, “Is it better to have loved-and-lost, or to have loved-and-lost and then have forgotten that one ever did love, as opposed to standing here – recalling quite well that certain love one did once feel, but now seems unable to recapture?” The only nostalgia one man allowed himself was in the reminiscence-of-possibilities.