Wijze woorden op zondag

When young, we mourn for one woman...
as we grow old, for women in general.
The tragedy of life is that man is never free yet strives for what he can never be.
The thing most feared in secret always happens.
My life, my loves, where are they now?
But the more the pain grows, the more this instinct for life somehow asserts itself.
The necessary beauty in life is in giving yourself to it completely.
Only later will it clarify itself and become coherent.

Uit Slacker

14:15 Gepost door fILLE in Algemeen | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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