“Sometimes when I dream, I sense a part of me that’s missing. It’s a strange feeling having your heart remember something your mind can not.”
|—||A Little Princess|
Our mistakes don’t make or break us. If we are lucky, they simply reveal who we really are, what we’re made of. Challenges will come, but if you treat them simply as tests of who you are, you’ll come out of it not bitter and victimized, but smarter and stronger.
The trick is in what one emphasizes. We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves happy. The amount of work is the same.
We are all a little damaged. Some of us hide it better than others, but on some level we are all torn up. We take it out on others and beat through life carrying it all and we will end up damaging someone else. And most of the time we won’t even notice or bother to care, because we are busy with our little disaster, that we call life.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”
“It is the time I have wasted for my rose …” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose …”
“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
“We don’t have an information shortage; we have an attention shortage. There’s always someone who’s going to supply you with information that you’re going to curate. The Guggenheim doesn’t have a shortage of art. They don’t pay you to hang paintings for a show — in fact you have to pay for the insurance. Why? Because the Guggenheim is doing a service to the person who’s in the museum and the artist who’s being displayed.”
A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape’s throat.
Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed form his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and Harry knew what it was, but did not know what to do— A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hand by Hermione. Harry lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim, and Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry’s robes slackened.
“Look…at….me…” he whispered.
The green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.
— Deathly Hallows, ch.32 “The Elder Wand”
You’ve got a bad case of being over there. The only cure is being over here.
I guess that’s what saying good-bye is always like—like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you’re in the air, there’s nothing you can do but let go.