The fairies, as their custom, clapped their hands with delight over their cleverness, and they were so madly in love with the little house that they could not bear to think they had finished it.
He had wished me well in finding my own fate to follow, and I never doubted his sincerity. But it had taken me years to accept that his absence in my life was a deliberate finality, an act he had chosen, a thing completed even as some part of my soul still dangled, waiting for his return. That, I think, is the shock of any relationship ending. It is realizing that what is still an ongoing relationship to someone is, for the other person, something finished and done with.
For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something – distance, a lesson, a companion, a new world – but now, after the last full stop, they had lost something palpable and felt a little emptier than before.
I wont stop working until my name become a Verb.
I don’t read books to finish them, I read to consume them.
Any work is always improvable, you cannot really finish the work, you can only abandon it out of tiredness or incompetence.
When God calls you to build 100 castles on earth and you built 98, take the 99th as if it’s the begining of your work and work hard to finish the race with all excellence. Go the extra mile!
Write out of love. Your piece will finish itself.
Beginning in itself has no value, it is an end which makes beginning meaningful, we must end what we begun.
It’s not how you start that’s important, but how well you finish!