Working hard for something we don’t care about is called stress; working hard for something we love is called passion.
Justice. I’ve heard that word. I tried it out. I wrote it down. I wrote it down several times and always it looked like a damn cold lie to me. There is no justice.
Greatness and loneliness. “Puissant et solitaire.” To live above the crowd in loneliness. To be condemned to loneliness by the greatness of one’s qualities. To be condemned to live apart, however much one wanted the contact of warm human companionship. To be the Lord’s anointed! Strange and dreadful fate! I forgot where I was as I thought of it. At last I raised my head and saw her eyes fixed upon me. Without knowing what I was doing, without reflection, as if moved by some independent spring of whose existence I was unaware, and whose violence I was totally unable to resist, I suddenly found myself kneeling before her, kissing her hands, crying out over and over again, “I love you!” - sobbing, “I love you!”