My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Why We Need Dreams
In truth they may be no more than windmills, yet we need them and perhaps need them even more. You see, it is the dream that makes waking a real and living thing. They are the fire and passion, the hope and power that make us more than dust and smoke, symbols of the death that might otherwise have been. It is because we have windmills, our visions and dreams, that we can begin to be who we will become and recognize the glory that is now.
Labels:
dreams,
motivation,
now,
realization
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