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.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Letting Go of Our Deceits
He thought we might do well if only we would let go of the deceits we thought we had needed. We have, he said, no need to pretend foolishness when life is available. Who was it we needed to fool, who but ourselves -- the ones who needed least to fear truth.
Labels:
foolishness,
ourselves
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