In this story I am the poet You're the poetry.
The world is suddenly quiet when peaches are served for dinner.
We are not the masters of our own fate, for to leave something as monumental as that in our own hands is to seal our fate. And I suppose that in that sense, we might be the masters of our own fate.
How we interact in our world that we inhabit determines how much happiness human beings enjoy. The ego guides human beings in performing their practical activities, and egotistical utility in turn motivates human behavior. An inflated ego can cause human beings to live in a corrupt and unethical manner that is hostile to other humans and the environment. A person’s passions can imprison them.
I am smiling a big adopted-orphan smile as I write this ... I still love scribbling the word - WRITER - any time on a form, questionnaire, document asks for my occupation. Fine, I write personality quizzes, I don't write about the Great Issues of the Day, but I think it's fair to say I am a writer ... ('Adopted-orphan smile', I mean, that's not bad, come on.)
Don't feed your ego with my soul.
I'm everything that you're not.
All artists are egotistical maniacs with inferiority complexes.