31 January 2013

Moral Courage


«This insatiable urgency that resided inside him, of escaping the suffocating system that constrained his freedom, condemned him to live as an outcast.»
                                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

«Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality of those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change.»
                                                                                                Ernest Hemingway 


                                                        The Forest by  David Scharf 

 

29 January 2013

«Think different»


«He closed his eyes and felt like he did not belong to this world. As long as he could remember he always had this annoying habit of questioning the established rules designed to manipulate our actions and control our thoughts.»             
                                                               By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

«There is no salvation in becoming adapted to a world which is crazy.»
                                                                          
                                                                                                 Henry Miller 



25 January 2013

Where is happiness?


«At that moment, and although he barely had any possessions, he felt fulfilled and complete. To him, this bare feeling was the proof that all he ever believed was real and not a possible side effect of some unnamed mental illness. » 
                                                   By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

«Happiness resides not in possessions, and not in gold, happiness dwells in the soul.»
                                                                                                             Democritus


                                                                (via swissmiss)

23 January 2013

Give life a meaning


«He sat under the oak tree, unpacked his belongings and initiated the sacred ritual of recoiling in the intimacy of sleep. He prepared his sleeping bag, removed his boots and laid flat on his back beneath the huge tree. He looked up to the strong and long branches of the oak tree and imagined that they were an extension of himself and felt in total harmony with the universe.»
                                               By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.”  
 
                                                                                       Jean-Paul Sartre 


21 January 2013

The recipe for living


«He reached the far corner of the street, turned left and stopped. For a moment he remained there staring in wonder. He nodded his head and gesticulated like he was engaging in a silent conversation with himself. He approached the focus of his attention. It was an old and majestic oak tree standing in this peripheral part of the neighborhood. Every time he was in town this was the perfect location for him to spend the night.»         
                                                     By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4


«The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.»
                                                                                                      Carl Jung

18 January 2013

Owning yourself


«As he walked down the street his body language revealed someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and most of all, someone who knew where he was going. Yet, if one did not look carefully to this frail man with shabby clothes and worn out boots, could easily overlook the strength that burst out from all his pores, which anticipated the unsuspicious treasures he carried inside him.»
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

«The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.»
                                                                                             Friedrich Nietzsche


                                                         (via thekidshouldseethis)

17 January 2013

«We wear the mask»


«While he roamed the streets, looking for a place to sleep, the moon and the stars were his only company, for everybody had left the stage, in which they were forced to juggle their props and wear their masks, to seek refuge in their conventional hideouts.»
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4

“We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.” 
                                                                                              Andre Berthiaume

15 January 2013

The road


«The sound of his paced footsteps echoed on the empty street like a heartbeat. In the dark pavement, scattered pools of water reflected the surrounding reality like pieces of broken mirrors. In that fragmented reality he could clearly distinguish the dim lights shining through the windows, behind which, endless stories of anonymous people like him, were unfolding.»
                                                         by Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
«Not all those who wander are lost.» 
                                                                                       J.R.R.Tolkien


                                          Sabine Weiss - Vers la lumière, Paris, 1953

12 January 2013

Short Story number 4


Short Story number 4: Inspired by the song «Paper Cup» by The Swell Season from the album Strict Joy.




The sound of his paced footsteps echoed on the empty street like a heartbeat. In the dark pavement, scattered pools of water reflected the surrounding reality like pieces of broken mirrors. In that fragmented reality he could clearly distinguish the dim lights, shining through the windows, behind which, endless stories of anonymous people like him, were unfolding.
While he roamed the streets, looking for a place to sleep, the moon and the stars were his only company, for everybody had left the stage, in which they were forced to juggle their props and wear their masks, to seek refuge in their conventional hideouts.
 As he walked down the street his body language revealed someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and most of all, someone who knew where he was going. Yet, if one did not look carefully to this frail man with shabby clothes and worn out boots, could easily overlook the strength that burst out from all his pores, which anticipated the unsuspicious treasures he carried inside him.
He reached the far corner of the street, turned left and stopped. For a moment he remained there staring in wonder. He nodded his head and gesticulated like he was engaging in a silent conversation with himself. He approached the focus of his attention. It was an old and majestic oak tree standing in this peripheral part of the neighborhood. Every time he was in town this was the perfect location for him to spend the night.
He sat under the oak tree, unpacked his belongings and initiated the sacred ritual of recoiling in the intimacy of sleep. He prepared his sleeping bag, removed his boots and laid flat on his back beneath the huge tree. He looked up to the strong and long branches of the oak tree and imagined that they were an extension of himself and felt in total harmony with the universe. At that moment, and although he barely had any possessions, he felt fulfilled and complete. To him, this bare feeling was the proof that all he ever believed was real and not a possible side effect of some unnamed mental illness.
He closed his eyes and felt like he did not belong to this world. As long as he could remember he always had this annoying habit of questioning the established rules designed to manipulate our actions and control our thoughts. This insatiable urgency that resided inside him, of escaping the suffocating system that constrained his freedom, condemned him to live as an outcast. But the more they tried to break his spirit and forced him to fit in the pattern, the more he felt compelled to drift in uncharted lands and refuse to follow the one way direction sign.  
 A cool breeze stroke his face. The sound of the leaves swaying in the wind filled the air. He closed his eyes and felt the serene tranquility of those who have found peace of mind. The hardships he had been enduring and the roads he had been travelling allowed him to acknowledge that we all can be happy with much less than we are made to believe. But, unfortunately, we are too busy trying to accomplish the goals imposed upon us to notice that everything we need is inside us.
                                                                             by Raquel R. 

7 January 2013

New Year - New Challenges


                                                   ( via thekidshoudseethis )

5 January 2013

New Year - New Soul


«The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul.»
                                                                                     G.K. Chesterton

1 January 2013

Fresh page


 «Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.» 
                                                        Henry Ward  Beecher

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.