The Heart Dies A Slow Death, Shedding

A Mind Troubled By Doubt Cannot Focus On The Course Of Victory.

What An Unbearable Sorrow It Would Be, To Realized I'd Never Really Tasted To Things I'd Eaten, Or Seen The Places I'd Been. What Life Would I Have? I Would Be Like The Dancer Who Had Practiced Since Childhood For A Performance She Would Never Give.

We Can Never Flee The Misery That Is Within Us.

I Went Back To Those Graves Not Long Afterward And Found As I Stood There That Sadness Was A Very Heavy Thing. My Body Weighed Twice What It Had Only A Moment Earlier, As If Those Graves Were Pulling Me Down Toward Them.

This Is Why Dreams Can Be Such Dangerous Things: They Smolder On Like A Fire Does, And Sometimes They Consume Us Completely.