We learn
that all life
is scarce yet abundant.
Profane yet
sacred.
Loving
yet hateful.
Enlightened
yet obscured.
Isolated yet
collective.
That life is
somehow derived from love.

Then, only then
would she realize that the life
that she created will extinguish with
nothing to offer but the sorrow that she
harvested in our souls and the holes that she dug
in our hearts.

We are all functioning at a small fraction of our capacity to live life fully in its total meaning of loving, caring, creating, and adventuring. Consequently, the actualizing of our potential can become the most exciting adventure of our lifetime.

I am sometimes disappointed, but I love my life ... and I must believe that the disappointments contribute something to what I love.

All any of us wanted, really, was to know that we counted. That someone else's life would not have been as rich without us here.

To the believer [Marxism] presents, first, a system of ultimate ends that embody the meaning of life and are absolute standards by which to judge events and actions . . .