Perhaps it is fitting that the best of our kind are so plagued with sadness, having seen so much of it themselves, the desire to inflict the same in those around them never truly takes root.
Such is the painful lesson is war, that in life those that lay lead dead on the battlefield could not see the bond in one another and killed each other. Sharing the same womb of the earth in extinction as brothers share the same womb from they took existence. Made to be brothers in death simply because they could not see the brotherhood they shared in life.
Not finishing what I set out to do in life before dying is not my greatest fear, no not having someone to pick up where I left off is.
Inspiration is the mere act of casting a light into the darkness of another mans soul to allowing him to witness what he already unknowingly possessed.
Every man who takes the breathe of life, has conflict written for him. A boy makes his conflict about power and the school yard his battlefield he will be a bully, yet mere meters away another man makes war against ignorance and the classroom his front line, he emerges the teacher. It is the great separator of men, not race, nor class but what he fights for and where he stages it.
Silence is often the greatest accomplice of tyranny.
In this life only a fool chases fame itself, they will always find their hands filled with emptiness. Fame is almost always worthless to those that possess it, a mere byproduct of the pursuit of something far greater.
It is liars that tend to be the loudest, for their words must reach the back of rooms. Honest men in my experience by nature are quiet, for their words need not concern itself with the size of venues, the power of their words of an honest man come not from the volume of which they are spoken but from truth.Where falsehoods are limited by acoustics, the truth however, can be heard across centuries even as whispers.
I like to think of pride as if it were a bag, the prouder the man the smaller his bag. Proud men with their small bags are filled easily, once filled so they must announce that to the world and engage in pride, the humble however are different. The mysterious guiding force of the universe that fills these bags of proud and humble alike with things worth being proud about, the humble though walk life this life with bigger bags whom this force not only fills with things but is compelled to in attempt to fill that emptiness. Perhaps that is why the humble more often that not get so much more, yet never boast about it for they know there is still yet more to receive.
Take a hurricane, a storm that stretches hundreds of miles wreaking destruction its path, Yet in the center lies the eye, a region of uncharacteristic calm unaffected by the havoc that surrounds it. Peculiar how nature allows such a contradiction, yet many a man does not, how they suffer in not allowing themselves to find a measure of peace despite the engulfing difficulties.