7
Artist: Unknown
Hands, are the most honest part of the human body
I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic.
The same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever I go
Everything touches me — I see too much, I hear too much
If you see beauty in something, don’t wait for others to agree.
Birds know themselves not to be at the center of anything
Don’t let your struggle become your identity
The people you love become ghosts inside of you
What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless
When you can’t control what’s happening
You're a dream. Like everything else
The way to love someone is to lightly run your finger
When I discover who I am, I’ll be free.
"Anytime you’re gonna grow, you’re gonna lose something
She had always wanted words, she loved them
Consider that you can see less than 1%
Scattered through the ordinary world there are books
He reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer
Close your eyes & imagine the best version of you possible
Whatever we call reality, it is revealed to us only through
We are meant to discover our authentic nature
We are dying from overthinking
Don't ask anyone not to leave
The meaning of life is just to be alive
I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe
Slow dance barefoot with me in the kitchen
How many faces, how many bodies can you recognize
I believe that suffering is part of the narrative
Ultimately what you do is secondary
We will meet again in another life in another world
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth
We’re neither pure; nor wise; nor good
We think we tell stories, but stories often tell us
Why do people love us?
It’s hard to wake from a nightmare
But here’s a little secret for you: no one is ever the same
This being human is a guest house
I think some people are just inexplicably bonded
I know now, after fifty years, that the finding/losing
Wherever you go, you meet part of your story
She was fascinated with words.
I realize the dust we return to is not the same dust
We are, as a species, addicted to story
Only a boring man will always want things to match
In a certain sense the past is far more real
Whatever happens in your life, no matter how troubling things
The trouble with most of us is that we would rather be
Life has no meaning.
4
Hands, are the most honest part of the human body
I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic.
The same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever I go
Everything touches me — I see too much, I hear too much
If you see beauty in something, don’t wait for others to agree.
Birds know themselves not to be at the center of anything
Don’t let your struggle become your identity
The people you love become ghosts inside of you
What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless
When you can’t control what’s happening
You're a dream. Like everything else
The way to love someone is to lightly run your finger
When I discover who I am, I’ll be free.
"Anytime you’re gonna grow, you’re gonna lose something
She had always wanted words, she loved them
Consider that you can see less than 1%
Scattered through the ordinary world there are books
He reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer
Close your eyes & imagine the best version of you possible
Whatever we call reality, it is revealed to us only through
We are meant to discover our authentic nature
We are dying from overthinking
Don't ask anyone not to leave
The meaning of life is just to be alive
I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe
Slow dance barefoot with me in the kitchen
How many faces, how many bodies can you recognize
I believe that suffering is part of the narrative
Ultimately what you do is secondary
We will meet again in another life in another world
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth
We’re neither pure; nor wise; nor good
We think we tell stories, but stories often tell us
Why do people love us?
It’s hard to wake from a nightmare
But here’s a little secret for you: no one is ever the same
This being human is a guest house
I think some people are just inexplicably bonded
I know now, after fifty years, that the finding/losing
Wherever you go, you meet part of your story
She was fascinated with words.
I realize the dust we return to is not the same dust
We are, as a species, addicted to story
Only a boring man will always want things to match
In a certain sense the past is far more real
Whatever happens in your life, no matter how troubling things
The trouble with most of us is that we would rather be
Life has no meaning.