She didn’t know how this ended, she just knew that it needed to, one way or another.
writing is like being in love. You never get better at it or learn more about it. The day you think you do is the day you lose it. Robert Frost called his work a lover’s quarrel with the world. It’s ongoing. It has neither a beginning nor an end. You don’t have to worry about learning things. The fire of one’s art burns all the impurities from the vessel that contains it.
In the end, we begin.
It’s better to burn out than to fade away.
If something cannot go on forever, it will stop.
Usiangalie nyuma kujutia vitu ulivyovifanya, angalia nyuma kujifunza kutokana na makosa uliyofanya.
Why there is word for “End”???, which mean why there is “End”,…!?
(So far it doesn’t exist!?)
A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.
Foolish man, what do you bemoan, and what do you fear? Wherever you look there is an end of evils. You see that yawning precipice? It leads to liberty. You see that flood, that river, that well? Liberty houses within them. You see that stunted, parched, and sorry tree? From each branch liberty hangs. Your neck, your throat, your heart are all so many ways of escape from slavery … Do you enquire the road to freedom? You shall find it in every vein of your body.
We are all fools with our sons. We wipe them and suckle them and all we expect is for them to be grateful to the end of their days.