How can you move on if you're still living in the past? And how can you step forward, leaving the past behind if you can't even begin to forgive what the past holds? How can you love someone for who they are yet want to hate them for what they've done? I guess that what it boils down to is this: there are always those defining moments, times that make us or break us, build us or tear us apart, help us progress further or stop us dead in our tracks. And for whichever way we may choose, there's a consequence of equal value. It's a true test of what we stand for, where we came from, and where we are going. These are moments that we live for, breathe for, and fight for. These are the defining moments that leave imprints forever in our hearts, making our souls forever. These are choices that could bring you one step closer to forever or leaving you hostage to the past. I guess in order to move on from the past, you must learn to forgive it. And forgiving may mean letting go.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past-childhood or past manhood and all the living and dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. Ecstasy, even, I felt, with flashes of sudden remembrance, and feeling sweaty and drowsy, I felt like sleeping and dreaming in the grass. - Jack Kerouac
I always believed it was the things you don't choose that makes you who you are. Your city, your neighborhood, your family. People here take pride in these things, like it was something they'd accomplished. The bodies around their souls, the cities wrapped around those. I lived on this block my whole life; most of these people have. When your job is to find people who are missing, it helps to know where they started. I find the people who started in the cracks and then fell through. This city can be hard. When I was young, I asked my priest how you could get to heaven and still protect yourself from all the evil in the world. He told me what God said to His children. "You are sheep among wolves. Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves."
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited. - Sylvia Plath
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you step forward, leaving the past behind if you can't even begin to
forgive what the past holds? How can you love someone for who
they are yet want to hate them for what they've done? I guess that
what it boils down to is this: there are always those defining moments,
times that make us or break us, build us or tear us apart, help us progress
further or stop us dead in our tracks. And for whichever way we may choose,
there's a consequence of equal value. It's a true test of what we stand for,
where we came from, and where we are going. These are moments that
we live for, breathe for, and fight for. These are the defining moments that
leave imprints forever in our hearts, making our souls forever. These are
choices that could bring you one step closer to forever or leaving you hostage
to the past. I guess in order to move on from the past, you must learn to forgive it.
And forgiving may mean letting go.
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and remembering it all.
The woods do that to you,
they always look familiar, long lost,
like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream,
like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water,
most of all like golden eternities of past-childhood
or past manhood and all the living
and dying and the heartbreak
that went on a million years ago
and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify
(by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
Ecstasy, even, I felt, with flashes of sudden remembrance,
and feeling sweaty and drowsy,
I felt like sleeping and dreaming in the grass.
- Jack Kerouac
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-The Perks of Being a Wallflower
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