We’ll collect the moments one by one; I guess that’s how the future is done.

I’m not geared up, or probably will never be, to have any fraction of my past being simply perceived by others. It’s not one of the features in the times of yore that got deeply incised, or that huge giant strong pillar, or anything. But along the way, I realize more and more that it is the petite details that build me. The meaningless pieces. But in this case, not for me.

You have a picture of life within you, a faith, a challenge, and you were ready for deeds and sufferings and sacrifices, and then you became aware of the degree that the world asked no deeds and no sacrifices, and that life is no poem of heroism with heroic parts to play and so on, but a comfortable room where people are quite content with eating and drinking, coffee and knitting, cards and radio music. And whoever wants more and has got it in him – the heroic and the beautiful, and the reverence for the great poets or for the saints – is a fool and a Don Quixote. Good. Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.