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.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Only Facts
Thoughts, ideas, beliefs of all sort as well as what happens in random fashion or what others have chosen to do: they are all only so many facts. They are what they are, and they will have for each of us only the value we give them. We are no obliged to react in any prescribed manner or according to any formula, no matter how time honored (or time worn) they may be.
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