Literature for me… tries to heal the harm done by stories. (How much harm? Most of the atrocities of history have been created by stories, e.g., the Jews killed Jesus.) I follow Sartre that the freedom the author claims for herself must be shared with the reader. So that would mean that literature is stories that put themselves at the disposal of readers who want to heal themselves. Their healing power lies in their honesty, the freshness of their vision, the new and unexpected things they show, the increase in power and responsibility they give the reader.

Undergoing personal change is a difficult but necessary process of maturing into the ultimate manifestation of a desirable self. True personal transformation requires a person honestly to assess their inner spirituality and adopt a clear vision of who they want to be. An earnest person experiencing inner transformation of their values and belief system is apt to feel conflicted, confused, and disorientated. Change of self is displacement, disarticulation, and loss of self. Alteration of our self-image results in disrupting, dislocating, and modifying a person’s perspective of what is significant.

And what of regrets? I shall live with them. I shall accept my regrets as part of my life, to be numbered among my self-inflicted wounds. But I will not endlessly gaze at them. I shall allow the memories to prod me into doing better with those still living. And I shall allow them to sharpen the vision and intensify the hope for that Great Day coming when we can all throw ourselves into each other's arms and say, "I'm sorry.

It is simple. Men lose their birthrights for a mess of pottage only if they stop using the gifts given them by God for their betterment. By prayer. That is the first and greatest gift. use the gift of prayer. Ask for strength of mind, and a clear vision. Then sense. Use your sense. Not all of us are born for greatness, but all of us have sense. Make use of it. Think. Think long and well. By prayer and good thought you will conquer all enemies....Behold, the night is coming. Prepare, for the time is at hand.

No! It was not me. I did not touch him!""But you know who did. You were there," Shanti whispered, her face cracking, revealing visions of death. Of loss. Of misery so intense it sucked all the happy thoughts from the room and corroded their memories.Sanders took a step forward even as the Captain did, not knowing exactly what to do, but wanting to cure this woman of that pain. The sight of it broke his heart. No one deserved to see a loved on killed, and then get confronted with it like this. No one.

i love good cries,loud sobs that soak your pillowthat kind that come at the endof a perfect bookyou're gasping for airas droplets of salt water trickle down your cheeksinto the corners of your mouthas your chest rises and fallsand your vision is blurredby the tearsbut your mind is so clear and your every thoughtin that moment feels so meaningfuland important and rightit feels okay to justlet it all outit makes you feel likeyou are free

Gandhi is an example of a man who grew from being self-centered as he was learning to become a lawyer in England, to becoming more family- and social oriented in South-Africa, where he led a reformation of Indian rights, to becoming determined in helping his nation recover from British rule at which he succeeded in the end with the help of a great many people. At the end of his life Gandhi was increasingly focused on a larger picture, encasing the whole world in his vision of a peaceful future.

I once had a substitute teacher in my 4th grade class that was wonderful. He said learning was like throwing mud on a wall. Some will stick, and some will fall off. But if you keep throwing the mud on the wall, eventually the whole wall will be covered in mud. I think writing is very much the same. You have to keep at it. Some will stick, and some will fall away, but you keep writing, and eventually, you've impacted thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people with your vision.

You can think of your life as being a little like knitting. When you first begin, there is no shape to it, but you keep knitting with some goal in mind—to make a sweater, a sock, or whatever. Every stitch is like a thought that you add to the overall shape of your life. Eventually, thoughts lead to action and the form will emerge, if you can only keep your intent in mind. If you have no clear vision, however, you will end up with a random pile of knotted yarn

We depend on our surroundings obliquely to embody the moods and ideas we respect and then to remind us of them. We look to our buildings to hold us, like a kind of psychological mould, to a helpful vision of ourselves. We arrange around us material forms which communicate to us what we need — but are at constant risk of forgetting what we need — within. We turn to wallpaper, benches, paintings and streets to staunch the disappearance of our true selves.