“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
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Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.
There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic.
Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
