Crossing those boundaries of yesterday, step into unknown. As today is your birthright, burn with fervour; consume and rise. Repetition is forbidden, etch out your story; time flies. Past is shrivelling rose, let go, so it may nourish its own. Enraptured, relish each moment like a French delicacy.
Desire is destiny, fickle as change is constant. There's just Indecency of death, after which comes the stygian dearth. Embrace that permanence, and drain every day of all its worth. M**an wasn't meant to be a slave of tomorrow, break free; you must!
On dusty, aging shelves rest countries of minds drying in paper jars: mummified in culture, embalmed in ink, reincarnated in conscience.
Go forth! Adorn walls and altars to honor epitomes of thought: precise rhetoric of Socrates, vivid horrors of Dante, articulate utopias of Moore, cryptic lessons of Sa'di, heroic voices of Shakespeare--- all epiphanies of poets and projections in prose collected together.
Yet if ignored and neglected, such wisdoms are wasted, and intellectual temples aimed to inspire and instruct remain silent, standing crypts.
Seeds of gradual wisdom, planted by one's own hand, grow forth from the consistent, loving watering, remembered during the daily routines. Yet, such insightful gestures that produce beautiful forests do not need to be clever as misguided words designed to deceive; do not need to be masked with illustrious, falsely-fabricated photos; and do not need to be blinded from decorated lights that attract moths.
Rather than the various tropes captivated and projected through self-proclaimed prophets and mentors, the humble observer endures each inspiring, spoken lesson as soft, ever present headaches, innate as the erratic voice that frustratingly reminds us that we are meant to do good.