The most painful, the only real death, is not the one where you are buried by others rather, its when a man buries himself because of others.

Inspiring people do not insert new ideas or feelings in others. The secret to their gift lies in their words and actions, their supernatural ability to cast light into the dark recesses mankind’s minds and hearts allowing to people to bare witness the truths that were already within them but not readily seen.

How the faithful forget themselves, what right do they have to possess the blindfold of ignorance in this life? Bowing to his holy books, he surrender his being to the knowledge within the calligraphy, those same eyes finding truth among scratches upon a page, yet not seeing the same within the humanity that surrounds him?

Deep men are not unlike deep waters, a calm surface concealing whatever troubles and turmoil that lurk underneath.

The good never become powerful, it is not so much a criticism of people as it criticism of power and its corrupting nature.

Unfortunate isn’t it, that we don’t come to fully know the tragedy of the people we hope to be, until we finally become them.