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Neither happiness nor grief are everlasting in this life-but one of the two is everlasting in the next. Which one do you want?
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Grief does not expire like a candle or the beacon on a lighthouse. It simply changes temperature. It becomes a kind of personal weather system. Snow settles in the liver. The bowels grow thick with humidity. Ice congeals in the stomach. Frost spiderwebs in the lungs. The heart fills with warm rain that turns to mist and evaporates through a colder artery.
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Death is a door life opens.
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Ideas may drift into other minds, but they do not drift my way. I have to go and fetch them. I know no work manual or mental to equal the appalling heart-breaking anguish of fetching an idea from nowhere.
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No matter how strong a condom is, it won't protect you from a broken heart.
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But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts
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Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.
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He would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.
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In very clear and available language, this book details how to recognize the inner critic and how to deal effectively with it. Byron Brown's presentation is useful for any individual who wishes to be free from the inner suffering and coercion of this ancient foe of our humanity, but it is specifically directed to those interested and engaged in the inner journey toward realization and enlightenment.
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Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than moving planes, ships or trains.
