Book Club

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadow to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade,
All shall fade, all shall fade.

“I was not born happy. As a child, my favorite hymn was: “Weary of earth and laden with my sin.” At the age of five, I reflected that, if I should live to be seventy, I had only endured, so far, a fourteenth part of my whole life, and I felt the long-spread-out boredom ahead of me to be almost unendurable. In adolescence, I hated life and was continually on the verge of suicide, from which, however, I was restrained by the desire to know more mathematics. Now, on the contrary, I enjoy life; I might almost say that with every year that passes I enjoy it more. This is due partly to having discovered what were the things that I most desired, and having gradually acquired many of these things. Partly it is due to having successfully dismissed certain objects of desire—such as the acquisition of indubitable knowledge about something or other—as essentially unattainable. But very largely it is due to a diminishing preoccupation with myself. Like others who had a Puritan education, I had the habit of meditating on my sins, follies, and shortcomings. I seemed to myself—no doubt justly—a miserable specimen. Gradually I learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; I came to center my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state of the world, various branches of knowledge, individuals for whom I felt affection. External interests, it is true, bring each its own possibility of pain: the world may be plunged in war, knowledge in some direction may be hard to achieve, friends may die. But pains of these kinds do not destroy the essential quality of life, as do those that spring from disgust with self. And every external interest inspires some activity which, so long as the interest remains alive, is a complete preventive of ennui. Interest in oneself, on the contrary, leads to no activity of a progressive kind. It may lead to the keeping of a diary, to getting psychoanalyzed, or perhaps to becoming a monk. But the monk will not be happy until the routine of the monastery has made him forget his own soul. The happiness which he attributes to religion he could have obtained from becoming a crossing-sweeper, provided he were compelled to remain one. External discipline is the only road to happiness for those unfortunates whose self-absorption is too profound to be cured in any other way.”

— Bertrand Russell ; “Conquest of Happiness”

Hii

It's better to become the hero of your own story than a villain of someone's else

One of my best quotes from Maya Angelou:
“𝑃𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑, 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙.”

<CUSTOM_BOLD>𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 ✨</CUSTOM_BOLD>
In the end, kindness, respect, and the way we treat others leave the deepest mark.

Words fade, moments pass, but feelings stay in people’s hearts forever. 💛

"Do you know how rare it is to find someone who sees the world the same way you do, even for only a single night ?"

Anu neuroscience nerd out there?!