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“The intentions are not born, they are seeds planted by mentors during one's youth, and it is watered by them periodically until it sprouts into a hideous flower, and only learns to grow until someone rips the root from the mind.” (psychologist) “Are you saying he watched his parents eat people?” “No, habits are usually not directly nurtured from the source. They are created by the culprit as a way to cope with the level of absence in their hearts. They need to feel something, whether it be guilt or exhilaration. Though identifying a passion has trials, it’s common for criminals to experiment before they stick with a system of how to commit the crime.” {The Latent Identities Of Darwin}”

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“Virtue is honorably rewarded, and the wrongdoers are suitably punished. We tend to strive for the improvement of our nature, with what you call the moral lessons that are woven into our hearts. If that were true, would there be any wrongdoers, such as myself? Would you say that perhaps I am an exception to your virtuous belief in man, only that I have scathed myself amidst the growth of those morals?” (Joseph Vladamir) “Fancy language aside, in my eyes, you are nothing but an utter psychopath.” (Darwin) “I am only pointing out the special treatment I am receiving for being a prisoner. All of this security, just for me! My previous guards would slumber with their handguns resting on their cigar-burned desks. Such fools trusting me enough to dream under my eye, you are a much smarter fool.” {The Latent Identities Of Darwin}”

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Author:FinPoet
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“There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. the power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet. "In what or whom is your hope?" asked Syme with curiosity. "In a man I never saw," said the other, looking at the leaden sea. "I know what you mean," said Syme in a low voice, "the man in the dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now." "Perhaps," said the other steadily; "but if so, he was the only man whom Sunday found it hard to kill.”

The Man Who Was Thursday
Author:G.K. Chesterton
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“Cel mai mare risc al omului modest este acela că neavând încredere în forțele proprii, el nu părăsește zona de confort, nu își asumă riscuri și în acest fel el nu poate evolua. Trebuie să te iubești mai mult și să ai deplină încredere în forțele proprii, să accepți că ești un om demn de toată isprava și că a eșua este parte a procesului de reușită. (Reușește Azi, 2021, Soulvisions, UK)”

Life CoachingDezvoltare PersonalaRelationship CoachingSfaturi De Iubire
Author:Beatrice Baiu
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“Turning hard material (e.g., bones) into fossils is easy in a lab setting, but in 1993, scientists were even able to make fossils from soft animal tissues! New York Times’ Science Watch reports: Scientists have for the first time produced fossils of soft animal tissues in a laboratory. In the process they discovered that most of the phosphate required for the fossilization of small animal carcasses comes from within the animal itself.”

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Book:A Flood of Evidence: 40 Reasons Noah and the Ark Still Matter
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“Summer is more wooing and seductive, more versatile and human, appeals to the affections and the sentiments, and fosters inquiry and the art impulse. Winter is of a more heroic cast, and addresses the intellect. The severe studies and disciplines come easier in winter. One imposes larger tasks upon himself, and is less tolerant of his own weaknesses...The simplicity of winter has a deep moral. The return of nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the philosopher coming back from the banquet and the wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread.”

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Author:John Burroughs
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“In the dry places, men begin to dream. Where the rivers run sand, there is something in man that begins to flow. West of the 98TH Meridian - where it sometimes rain and it sometimes doesn’t – towns, like weeds, spring up when it rains, dry up when it stops. But in a dry climate, the husk of the plant remains. The stranger might find, as if preserved in amber, something of the green life that was once lived there, and the ghosts of men who have gone on to a better place. The withered towns are empty, but not uninhabited. Faces sometimes peer out from the broken windows, or whisper from the sagging balconies, as if this place – now that is dead – had come to life. As if empty it is forever occupied. Reproduced in THE BORSCHT BELT from The Works of Love by Wright Morris by permission of the University of Nebraska Press. Copyright 1949, 1951 by Wright Morris.”

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Book:The Borscht Belt: Revisiting the Remains of America's Jewish Vacationland
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