Sanity And Character Quotes

Humanity can be divided into madmen and cowards. My personal tragedy is in being born into a world where sanity is held to be a character flaw.

How to win in life: 1 work hard 2 complain less 3 listen more 4 try, learn, grow 5 don't let people tell you it cant be done 6 make no excuses

Minds that have withered into psychosis are far more terrifying than any character of fiction.

I'm sorry, Mother. It's just that five days of flying with these characters has made me crawl right to the edge of sanity.' 'I fell over the edge.' Karen said. 'I jumped,' Walter added, 'And I can't seem to climb back up.

Who we are usually depends on who is—or who we think is—looking at us.

The "pathology of normalcy" rarely deteriorates to graver forms of mental illness because society produces the antidote against such deterioration. When pathological processes become socially patterned, they lose their individual character. On the contrary, the sick individual finds himself at home with all other similarly sick individuals. The whole culture is geared to this kind of pathology and arranged the means to give satisfactions which fit the pathology. The result is that the average individual does not experience the separateness and isolation the fully schizophrenic person feels. He feels at ease among those who suffer from the same deformation, in fact, it is the fully sane person who feels isolated in the insane society - and he may suffer so much from the incapacity to communicate that it is he who may become psychotic.

Yes. To write a novel is to risk my sanity. The deeper I get into the suffering and conflict of the characters, into the very situations and thoughts and feelings that make the novel worthwhile, the worse I feel, and the more likely I am to be severely depressed when the book is finished. There is no avoiding this: it is the result of attempting to tell all you know, to reach for the stars, to write what matters.

Writing is a solitary existence, especially if you forget to chat to your friends – sorry, I meant characters.

If you've been betrayed by someone. For your own sanity, associate the problem with the individual and not with the gender.

People in his everyday – cashiers, bus drivers, teachers – were always much cooler or more evil in his memories. His mind had no time for the mundane – adding creative character and plot embellishments to everyone and everything for his sanity’s survival.

More than any other single thing, in any case, the practical irrelevance of actual obedience to Christ accounts for the weakened effect of Christianity in the world today, with its increasing tendency to emphasize political and social action as the primary way to serve God. It also accounts for the practical irrelevance of Christian faith to individual character development and overall personal sanity and well-being.

Almost every sane person is at least two different people.

Sanity, however, was so integral to his character that neither hysteria nor horror could long have their way with him.

The point is that you have here a direct, unmistakable assault on sanity and decency; and even - since some of Dali’s pictures would tend to poison the imagination like a pornographic postcard - on life itself. What Dali has done and what he has imagined is debatable, but in his outlook, his character, the bedrock decency of a human being does not exist. He is as anti-social as a flea. Clearly, such people are undesirable, and a society in which they can flourish has something wrong with it. Now, if you showed this book, with its illustrations, to Lord Elton, to Mr. Alfred Noyes, to The Times leader writers who exult over the “eclipse of the highbrow” - in fact, to any “sensible” art-hating English person - it is easy to imagine what kind of response you would get. They would flatly refuse to see any merit in Dali whatever. Such people are not only unable to admit that what is morally degraded can be æsthetically right, but their real demand of every artist is that he shall pat them on the back and tell them that thought is unnecessary. And they can be especially dangerous at a time like the present, when the Ministry of Information and the British Council put power into their hands. For their impulse is not only to crush every new talent as it appears, but to castrate the past as well. Witness the renewed highbrow-baiting that is now going on in this country and America, with its outcry not only against Joyce, Proust and Lawrence, but even against T. S. Eliot. But if you talk to the kind of person who can see Dali’s merits, the response that you get is not as a rule very much better. If you say that Dali, though a brilliant draughtsman, is a dirty little scoundrel, you are looked upon as a savage. If you say that you don’t like rotting corpses, and that people who do like rotting corpses are mentally diseased, it is assumed that you lack the æsthetic sense. Since “Mannequin rotting in a taxicab” is a good composition. And between these two fallacies there is no middle position, but we seldom hear much about it. On the one side Kulturbolschewismus: on the other (though the phrase itself is out of fashion) “Art for Art’s sake.” Obscenity is a very difficult question to discuss honestly. People are too frightened either of seeming to be shocked or of seeming not to be shocked, to be able to define the relationship between art and morals. It will be seen that what the defenders of Dali are claiming is a kind of benefit of clergy. The artist is to be exempt from the moral laws that are binding on ordinary people. Just pronounce the magic word “Art,” and everything is O.K.

The truth is that Islam itself was a barbaric reaction against that very humane complexity that is really a Christian character; that idea of balance in the deity, as of balance in the family, that makes that creed a sort of sanity, and that sanity the soul of civilisation.

When he wrote back, he pretended to be his old self, he lied his way into sanity. For fear of his psychiatrist who was also their censor, they could never be sensual, or even emotional. His was considered a modern, enlightened prison, despite its Victorian chill. He had been diagnosed, with clinical precision, as morbidly oversexed, and in need of help as well as correction. He was not to be stimulated. Some letters—both his and hers—were confiscated for some timid expression of affection. So they wrote about literature, and used characters as codes. All those books, those happy or tragic couples they had never met to discuss! Tristan and Isolde the Duke Orsino and Olivia (and Malvolio too), Troilus and Criseyde, Once, in despair, he referred to Prometheus, chained to a rock, his liver devoured daily by a vulture. Sometimes she was patient Griselde. Mention of “a quiet corner in a library” was a code for sexual ecstasy. They charted the daily round too, in boring, loving detail. He described the prison routine in every aspect, but he never told her of its stupidity. That was plain enough. He never told her that he feared he might go under. That too was clear. She never wrote that she loved him, though she would have if she thought it would get through. But he knew it. She told him she had cut herself off from her family. She would never speak to her parents, brother or sister again. He followed closely all her steps along the way toward her nurse’s qualification. When she wrote, “I went to the library today to get the anatomy book I told you about. I found a quiet corner and pretended to read,” he knew she was feeding on the same memories that consumed him “They sat down, looked at each other, smiled and looked away. Robbie and Cecilia had been making love for years—by post. In their coded exchanges they had drawn close, but how artificial that closeness seemed now as they embarked on their small talk, their helpless catechism of polite query and response. As the distance opened up between them, they understood how far they had run ahead of themselves in their letters. This moment had been imagined and desired for too long, and could not measure up. He had been out of the world, and lacked the confidence to step back and reach for the larger thought. I love you, and you saved my life. He asked about her lodgings. She told him. “And do you get along all right with your landlady?” He could think of nothing better, and feared the silence that might come down, and the awkwardness that would be a prelude to her telling him that it had been nice to meet up again. Now she must be getting back to work. Everything they had, rested on a few minutes in a library years ago. Was it too frail? She could easily slip back into being a kind of sister. Was she disappointed? He had lost weight. He had shrunk in every sense. Prison made him despise himself, while she looked as adorable as he remembered her, especially in a nurse’s uniform. But she was miserably nervous too, incapable of stepping around the inanities. Instead, she was trying to be lighthearted about her landlady’s temper. After a few more such exchanges, she really was looking at the little watch that hung above her left breast, and telling him that her lunch break would soon be over.

Their Biggest Fear   What is a narcissist afraid of most? Narcissist who have had some insight into their own disorder will tell you that the biggest fear of the narcissist is BEING FOUND OUT.   They fear that you will recognize their facade. They fear you will realize that much of their bad behavior is intentional. When the narcissist realizes that YOU KNOW the truth about his lack of empathy; that is when you will be cut off, and he will work to turn all of your mutual relationships against you that he can.   I have written several times thus far about how most of the narcissist's motivations and behavior are subconscious. However, – from time to time, the narcissist does recognize, in brief glimpses, the truth about his envious and angry nature. The truth will rise to the surface of his conscience if he allows you to confront him. Therefore you and your voice absolutely must be suppressed. You also must not be allowed access to his other relationships – the ones he can still control, the relationships he still has fooled. For the narcissist, the  easiest way to suppress your voice is to launch a  character attack against you. He decides he must spread lies about you to everyone so that 1) he can explain your sudden absence in his life (He tells everyone that he discovered you were really a mean, hateful person, and he had to cut you off to maintain his own sanity. There is no way he can allow others to think you cut him off – as that would indicate there might be something wrong with him); and 2) he must convince others that you are a terrible, or at least an unstable person – so that if you ever have a chance to talk

Remember that we deal with alcohol—cunning, baffling, powerful! Without help it is too much for us. But there is One who has all power—that One is God. May you find Him now! Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point. We asked His protection and care with complete abandon. Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as a program of recovery: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

The shoddy writer wants only publication. He fails to recognize that almost anyone willing to devote between twelve and fourteen hours a day to writing--and there are many such people, will eventually get published. But only the great writer will survive, the writer who fully understands his trade and is willing to take time and the necessary risks, always assuming, of course, that the writer is profoundly honest and at least in his writing, sane. Sanity in a writer is merely this: However stupid he may be in his private life, he never cheats in writing. He never forgets that his audience is, at least ideally, as noble, generous, and tolerant as he is himself (or more so), and never forgets that he is writing about people, so that to turn characters to cartoons, to treat his characters as innately inferior to himself, to forget their reasons for being as they are, to treat them as brutes, is bad art. Sanity also involves taste. The true writer has a great advantage over most other people: He knows the great tradition of literature, which has always been the cutting edge of morality, religion, and politics, to say nothing of social reform. He knows what the greatest literary minds of the past are proud to do and what they will not stoop to, and his knowledge informs his practice.

Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. This is yet another step which invokes “God” and encourages dependence rather than independence. It echoes the first three steps’ declarations of personal “powerlessness” (first step), personal “[in]sanity” (second step), and the “decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God” (third step). (As an aside, it’s most interesting to speculate how those who chose doorknobs or bedpans as their “Higher Power” “work this step.”)

1. We admitted we were powerless over our emotions, that our lives had become unmanageable. 2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. 3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. 4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. 5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. 6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. 7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings. 8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. 9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. 10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. 11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. 12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to emotionally and mentally ill persons and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Sonnet of Nonconformity Nonconformity is no sign of character, Nor is swinging on wrecking balls. Vulgarity is the same as animal liberty, Only accountability adorns our civilized halls. Clothes have no bearing on civilization, Nor does allegiance to law and order. But habits that endorse self-absorption, Breed nothing but degradation and disorder. Perverted animals belong in the jungle, Self-regulation is vital in civilized society. If we are to take this world forward, We must stand tall with honor and sanity. Naked or not a human is always responsible. Unregulated freedom sustains a world most cruel.

Silar's problem is something I, as an author, am constantly faced with. I have to predict the actions of my characters as they enter different situations. But there's always that element of chaos when they lose their sanity or when the less-probable occurs, which works against whatever fate I have in store for them. Just to complicate things further, it's almost inexcusable for an author to have characters acting... um... out of character in a book unless it's warranted by some other event. Therefore, as reasonable readers and authors, we all have our own ideas of deterministic behaviour and frequently balk at actions/decisions that seem odd.

The Parenting Sonnet Anybody can make a baby, that's no glory, To raise a true being, that's a glorious thing. It takes less than a minute to make a baby, But more than a decade to make a being. So if you choose to have baby someday, Focus on their character, not just sustenance. And make sure to keep luxury away from them, For luxury is curse for character development. Pass on the tradition of compassion to them, Be a living example of the possibility of humanity. Teach them the belief of nondiscrimination, Demonstrate to them a never-before seen sanity. Be the person you want the kids to grow up to be. The best kind of parenting is that of exemplarity.

Any fiction writer who has never had his work misunderstood couldn't have written a lot. Somehow along the way you are going to run into people who will take a knowledgeable look at a character in your story and thereafter become able to make that fictional person, you. The story of that character becomes your life; the attitudes and proclivities become your character, and soon your real self is fighting for assertion. Don't take it personal though. The truth is that most people don't know how to read fiction. Most people just don't have the imagination to understand that fiction exists. They are the realists of our world. They are the people who provide that important measure of sanity to counterweight the controlled insanity of creative people. They are the ones who keep this world from toppling over. Learn to love them.

My God! You really like her,don't you? I knew you were attracted to the woman, but you really like her.I should have known. From the moment you returned to camp that night, grumbling about how the woman in this area were too damn pretty, I knew a female had finally burrowed underneath that hardened exterior. I just never dreamed you would also get to her." "I hope I'm around when a woman finally lays claim to your sanity. With your impetuous personality,your actions will be far more out of character than mine." Tyr clapped his mug on the table and threw his hands up in the air. "Not me. I swore an oath against women and commitments, and it is an oath I intend to keep.But you,my friend, are not me and do not have my reasons for rejecting happiness.Go to her, a woman like that would forgive a man, she might even find life in a stone. So much so,that she may even consider marrying him. Of course,he might have to grovel a little." Ranulf pushed himself up,wishing Tyr was correct.Unfortunately, Bronwyn wasn't about to marry a man like him, not before and certainly not now. "I'm going to take a walk.

Bob was clearly a confused character, and it was thought that he might benefit from some professional attention. “My mother and sister,” said Mitchum, “doubting my sanity, implored the cooperation of my wife in suggesting a visit to a psychiatrist.” Mitchum agreed to their suggestion—”What could I do? It was the family consensus”—and submitted himself to the leather couch in the Beverly Hills office of Dr. Frederick Hacker. “Mr. Mitchum, do you know why you have come here?” asked the doctor, described by the patient as a dead ringer for Walter Slezak. “Because my family thinks I’m crazy.” “Very interesting,” said Dr. Hacker. He saw the shrink a few more times. They “kicked things around” and Mitchum regaled the doc with stories of his life in Hollywood and the characters he knew there. “Mr. Mitchum, you suffer from a state of over-amiability,” Hacker concluded, “in which failure to please everyone creates a condition of self-reproach. You are addicted to nothing but the good will of people, and I suggest that you risk their displeasure by learning to say ‘No’ and following your own judgement.” Mitchum translated this into layman’s terms when he got home: “He said I should tell you all to go shit in your hats.

Once upon a time Khidr, the teacher of Moses, called upon mankind with a warning. At a certain date, he said, all the water in the world which had not been specially hoarded, would disappear. It would then be renewed, with different water, which would drive men mad. Only one man listened to the meaning of this advice. He collected water and went to a secure place where he stored it, and waited for the water to change its character. On the appointed date the streams stopped running, the wells went dry, and the man who had listened, seeing this happening, went to his retreat and drank his preserved water. When he saw, from his security, the waterfalls again beginning to flow, this man descended among the other sons of men. He found that they were thinking and talking in an entirely different way from before; yet they had no memory of what had happened, nor of having been warned. When he tried to talk to them, he realized that they thought that he was mad, and they showed hostility or compassion, not understanding. At first he drank none of the new water, but went back to his concealment, to draw on his supplies, every day. Finally, however, he took the decision to drink the new water because he could not bear the loneliness of living, behaving and thinking in a different way from everyone else. He drank the new water, and became like the rest. Then he forgot all about his own store of special water, and his fellows began to look upon him as a madman who had miraculously been restored to sanity.

Humanity can be divided into madmen and cowards. My personal tragedy is in being born into a world where sanity is held to be a character flaw.” I ran out of words under his gaze. “Cleverness builds ever more elaborate structures of self-justification,

In short, we live with an overriding sense that we have ultimate control over who our kids become when they are adults. We therefore believe that every decision we make can potentially alter the outcome of their lives. And this is an enormous burden to carry. I want to be clear here. Parents are the primary influence in a child’s life concerning character development, but the truth is, even our influence is very limited.

My personal tragedy is in being born into a world where sanity is held to be a character flaw.

we successfully take charge and simplify these areas of our lives—our expectations of ourselves, our schedules, our attitudes about work, and our spending habits—we will experience far greater contentment. The weight will lift from our shoulders and we will find that, wonderfully, we have energy to focus on what we really want to matter, the things we might have put on our “real” list, such as our relationships with loved ones, appreciating the goodness around us, and paying attention to the deeper parts of our character and the character of others. Make

The capacity to deny oneself gratification cannot be confused with the denial of gratification imposed on us. The masses do not know the difference and therefore never cultivate a will of their own. They are subject to the pressures of the outside world, its punishments and validations. They confuse their own needs with what others tell them to need, and their personality is nullified in the process. That's what it means to be a sheep. And yet this is not as obvious as it seems. It may mean to work from home in a warm country while your neighbors party in the swimming pool. It also means having an entire beach to yourself while they are at work. Both situations demand that you question your sanity and challenge your character as a person. The masses will never do that. They are too weak.

Time to Defect (The Sonnet) It's time to defect, my friend - from the side of passport to the side of heartport, from the side of prison to the side of reason, from the side of nationality to the side of sanity, from the side of myopia to the side of motion, from the side of crutches to the side of conscience, from the side of coffins to the side of character, from the side of bombs to the side of backbone, from the side of barbwire to the side of brainwire, from the side of flag to the side of fervor, from the side of parasites to the side of paragons, from the side of pacemakers to the side of peacemakers, from the side of ideology to the side of illumination. It's time to defect, my friend - from the side of caves to the side of kind, from the side of tribe to the side of life.

In fact, Kunal Nayyar reached out to Friends star Matt LeBlanc for advice. At the time Nayyar told Glamour, “[Matt] told me that the journey is crazy, the journey is long, and everybody’s going to want something from you, [but] just keep your sanity and stay grounded.” Now, eight years later, Nayyar is still grateful for that advice. Kunal Nayyar: That’s what I reached out to him about, really. In relation to that, I would go home to India, and I would have cousins I didn’t even know come out of the woodwork. It was a huge deal for India, as a culture, to have an Indian character on America’s biggest sitcom. Not an Indian-American, but an Indian, from New Delhi, who sounds and looks like this. It was huge. I understand the cultural responsibility that I held being on this show. So as someone who had been through a similar journey, at least in terms of massive fame, Matt said to stay humble and keep your head down because it’s a long haul. That’s what Chuck Lorre had said to me, too. It’s not that I didn’t know that already, but to hear it from people who really have gone through that journey is very powerful, especially when you’re young and you’re searching.

Fame is a dangerous addictive drug . People lose their character, morals, principles, mind , manners, sanity just to have it.

ChatGPT Sonnet ChatGPT is not a threat, Any more than drugs are. Ultimately it's just another test, That helps strengthen character. It is a helpful distraction that, Reduces the competition exponentially. As more boneheads use ChatGPT to cheat, Worth of excellence will skyrocket globally. Drugs used in moderation are medicine, Drugs abused stifle health and sanity. Likewise, algorithm used wisely is a boon, Algorithm abused cripples life and society. You can cheat in a few projects and exams using AI. But there is no algorithm to help you cheat in life.

It is easy to see how, in a world as devoid of meaning as the one that all of these fictional characters inhabit - a world modeled closely on the real modern world - madness is both a legitimate response and an effective challenge to the superficial sanity of the social order and historical process…only the person out of step with society has an appropriate vantage point from which to view its failings; only the person who fails to obey the institutions that mandate certain behaviors can appreciate their rigidity and the consequences of nonconformity. And only those who are victims of the system can bring about real reforms in it. Only the inmates can run the asylum - and, as much of the best experimental fiction of recent years suggests, only the inmates should.

Version Two-Morning (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN ISOLATED I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem). (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I ADMIT WHEN I RELY ONLY ON MY WILL MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THERE IS A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I BELIEVE THIS POWER CAN, AND WILL, RESTORE ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM MAKING A DECISION TO TURN MY LIFE OVER TO THAT POWER’S CARE. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM ENTIRELY READY TO HAVE THAT POWER REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I HUMBLY ASK THAT POWER TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM SEEKING THROUGH THIS PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH THAT SPIRITUAL POWER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO TAKE THE ACTION NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THAT SPIRITUAL POWER’S WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) THIS MORNING I AM PRAYING FOR THE ABILITY AND WILLINGNESS TO PRACTICE THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL ASPECTS OF MY LIFE. (Engage in your ending ritual if you are using one.) Version Two-Evening (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.) TONIGHT I ADMIT IN ISOLATION I AM POWERLESS OVER (Fill in problem)-THAT MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A POWER GREATER THAN MYSELF AND YOU ARE RESTORING ME TO SANITY. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM GRATEFUL THIS DAY I WAS ABLE TO MAKE A DECISION TO TURN MY WILL AND MY LIFE OVER TO YOUR CARE. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I CONTINUE TO BE ENTIRELY WILLING TO HAVE YOU REMOVE ALL MY DEFECTS OF CHARACTER. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I HUMBLY ASK YOU TO CONTINUE TO REMOVE MY SHORTCOMINGS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I TAKE PERSONAL INVENTORY AND FIND I HAVE BEEN WRONG AND NOW PROMPTLY ADMIT IT TO YOU. (If after an honest review of the day you are unable to identify anyone you have harmed, skip the next two sentences.) (BREATHE) TONIGHT I LIST THESE PERSONS I HAVE HARMED TODAY, AND AM WILLING TO MAKE AMENDS TO THEM ALL. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AGREE TO MAKE DIRECT AMENDS TO THESE PEOPLE WHEREVER POSSIBLE, EXCEPT WHEN TO DO SO WOULD INJURE THEM OR OTHERS. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH PRAYER TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE POWER TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM PRAYING FOR THE WILLINGNESS TO CARRY OUT YOUR WILL FOR ME. (BREATHE) TONIGHT I AM SEEKING THROUGH MEDITATION TO IMPROVE MY CONSCIOUS CONTACT WITH YOU. (BREATHE) TODAY I EXPERIENCED A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING AS A RESULT OF THESE STEPS. (BREATHE) TODAY I TRIED TO CARRY THIS MESSAGE TO OTHERS WHO STILL SUFFER. (BREATHE) TODAY I PRACTICED THESE PRINCIPLES IN ALL MY AFFAIRS. (Engage in your beginning ritual if you are using one.)

Stanley forced a smile to his lips at the memory of the onesided romance; it was silly, after all, a stupid childhood crush. Who’d fall in love with a fictional character? That was the kind of thing you laughed about as an adult. Or at least Harriet had thought so. He couldn’t quite do it, though. Couldn’t quite see it as a joke. It had felt too real, too raw and wild and fierce, for him to dismiss it even now. It was love, of a sort, stunted and unformed as it was. For a time, it had kept him sane.

A beast he might be, but he would always keep her safe. That much she knew beyond doubt. If not for her own sanity, then to at least protect his own life. He was her beast, and never had she been more grateful for it. Devyl hesitated at Mara’s embrace. At the warmth of her breath on his skin as she clung to him. Never once had she touched him so intimately. She sank her hand into his hair and fisted it there to hold him as if he were sacred. As if she were desperate to keep him close. “Thank you,” she breathed against his ear, causing chills to rise up along his arms and back. And other things to rise he was best to not think upon. He gave her a bashful grin. “You’ve got to quit falling into such messes, my lady. One day I might not find you and then what would happen to us?” She laughed nervously. “Perhaps you should teach me to use a sword, then?” He arched a brow at her teasing tone and knew better than what she suggested. “A Deruvian swordmaiden?” “Why not? You’re a Druid warrior.” She had a point. It would be no more unlikely or out of character than his own past. “Perhaps I shall teach you, then.

Civil Sanity (Sonnet 1631) You know what the problem is! We question love more than we question hate. We question humility more than we question arrogance. We question benevolence more than we question biases. We question integrity more than we question deceit. We question curiosity more than we question prejudice. We question character more than we question cowardice. Problem is, we question humanity more than we question inhumanity. Grow out of such prehistoric normalcy, and the world will encounter civil sanity.

The saintlier a person appears, the more the devil thrives within, pulsating through their veins, ceaselessly vying for control over their mind, body, and spirit. It's not solely about who they appear to be or what they conceal deep inside; it's about the person poised at the threshold of these two realms, weathering storms from both sides. Continuously battling, they strive to maintain sanity and uphold their character amidst the tempest.

Shalom Civilization (The Sonnet) Without accountability there's no civilization, For it is the line between human and animal. Without integrity there's no civilization, For it is the line between human and vegetable. Without sanctity there's no civilization, For it is the line between sanity and savagery. Without amity there's no civilization, For it is the line between humanity and machinery. Without conscience there's no civilization, For it is the line between order and upheaval. Without character there's no civilization, For it is the line between life and survival. Civilization is a small word with a universe inside. To unfold it requires a species without divide.

The main intrigue of the novel is the sanity or lack of sanity of the main character. What should grip the reader is the incredible story and unknown fate of this man." —Terrence Hill on his book, The Heart of a Poet

I believe in travel. I believe that by disorienting us, it rearranges us. Travel builds character and ignites imagination, nurtures independence and humility, catalyzes curiosity and self-examination. It can be a bulwark against stagnation, and a call to action. It widens our worldview and brings us face-to-face with our privilege, as it forces us to reassess entrenched beliefs and long-held concepts. Of course, travel is no magical elixir. I've stopped believing it's 'fatal to prejudice,' as Mark Twain famously declared (if only it were that simple), but I do hold that it's a solid start toward upending our biases and assumptions, because it compels us to see beyond the abstractions of a foreign land to its humanity. But travel has a shadow side, too: there's the environmental impact of flying and cruising, the crowding of our planet's most wondrous places, the littering of sacred sites, the pricing-out of locals. And it has dreadful roots (colonialism, capitalism) and gruesome side effects (exploitation, exoticism, saviorism). I wrestle with this duality. How do I reconcile the damage travel does with the awareness that it profoundly enriches my life; that it is not only my livelihood but also, at time, my sanity? It's another area in which I get hopelessly lost. And while I may never navigate this ethical tangle, I recognize that travel itself is what helps me make sense of - or at least pay more attention to - a world both exquisite and unbearably cruel.

Not only does our individual and societal sanity depend on connection; so does our physical health. Because we are biopsychosocial creatures, the rising loneliness epidemic in Western culture is much more than just a psychological phenomenon: it is a public health crisis. A preeminent scholar of loneliness, the late neuroscientist John Cacioppo and his colleague and spouse, Stephania Cacioppo, published a letter in the Lancet only a month before his death in 2018. "Imagine," they wrote, "a condition that makes a person irritable, depressed, and self-centered, and is associated with a 26% increase in the risk of premature mortality. Imagine too that in industrialized countries around a third of people are affected by this condition, with one person in 12 affected severely, and that these proportions are increasing. Income, education, sex, and ethnicity are not protective, and the condition is contagious. The effects of the condition are not attributable to some peculiarity of the character of a subset of individuals, they are a result of the condition affecting ordinary people. Such a condition exists — loneliness." We now know without doubt that chronic loneliness is associated with an elevated risk of illness and early death. It has been shown to increase mortality from cancer and other diseases and has been compared to the harm of smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. According to research presented at the American Psychological Association's annual convention in 2015, the loneliness epidemic is a public health risk at least as great as the burgeoning rates of obesity. Loneliness, the researcher Steven Cole told me, can impair genetic functioning. And no wonder: even in parrots isolation impairs DNA repair by shortening chromosome-protecting telomeres. Social isolation inhibits the immune system, promotes inflammation, agitates the stress apparatus, and increases the risk of death from heart disease and strokes. Here I am referring to social isolation in the pre COVID-19 sense, though the pandemic has grievously exacerbated the problem, at great cost to the well-being of many.

But if we ask whether there was not sonic madness about him, whether his naturally just mind was not subject to some kind of disturbing influence which was not essential to itself, then we ask a very different question, and require, unless I am mistaken, a very different answer. When all Philistine mistakes are set aside, when all mystical ideas are appreciated, there is a real sense in which Blake was mad. It is a practical and certain sense, exactly like the sense in which he was not mad. In fact, in almost every case of his character and extraordinary career we can safely offer this proposition, that if there was something wrong with it, it was wrong even from his own best standpoint. People talk of appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober; it is easy to appeal from Blake mad to Blake sane. When Blake lived at Felpham angels appear to have been as native to the Sussex trees as birds. Hebrew patriarchs walked on the Sussex ])owns as easily as if they were in the desert. Some people will be quite satisfied with saying that the mere solemn attestation of such miracles marks it man as a madman or a liar. But that is a short cut of sceptical dogmatism which is not far removed from inipu- dence. Surely we cannot take an open question like the supernatural and shut it with a bang, turning the key of the n►ad-house. on all the mystics of history. To call a man mad because lie has seen ghosts is in a literal sense religious persecution. It is denying him his full dignity as a citizen because lie cannot be fitted into your theory of the cosmos. It is disfranchising him because of his religion. It is just as intolerant to tell an old woman that she cannot be a witch as to tell her that she must be a witch. In both cases you are setting your own theory of things inexorably against the sincerity or sanity of human testimony. Such dogmatism at least must be quite as impossible to anyone calling himself an agnostic as to anyone calling himself a spiritualist. You cannot take the region called the unknown and calmly say that though you know nothing about it, you know that all its gates are locked. You cannot say, "This island is not discovered yet; but I am sure that it has a wall of cliffs all round it and no harbour." That was the whole fallacy of Herbert Spencer and Huxley when they talked about the unknowable instead of about the unknown. An agnostic like Huxley must concede the possibility of a gnostic like Blake. We do not know enough about the unknown to

Time, Light, Space, You and I! In the spaces unknown and very high, There where they say we all go when we die, I fled my Earthly shadows to hide in that space high, Where I did not obstruct light but I let it pass by. Through me into its vast arena of cosmic lights, Where there are no shadows because there are no egos and no fights, Where all that shines is not merely due to bright lights, Because in stars too I have seen some Divine delights. That shine through them in those starry nights, When the moon is silent, the sun is humble and the stars don't rumble, I have witnessed sights during those nights, Which even render the brightest sun humble. It is a journey beyond the realm of time, Where time controls nothing because it loses its infinity, Because there light dictates the values of time, Where light does not bend because it alters its proclivity. There, I have seen time bending in that discreet space, Where all laws of Earthly logic fail to compile anything, There time obeys just the factors of light and space, Where to a naked eye only hollowness spreads giving rise to nothing. In actuality it is there time changes its character, Because light assumes a new form, And when new logics takeover and change the cosmic character, Only then I am able to see a universe in a law that is so uniform. I wish to take you on these secret journeys with me, Irma and I, and I shall show you how reality bends in that dimension, But only if you are willing to allow me, To let me love you even in that highest and exalted mansion, Where light behaves differently because time too bends, I will take you there to steal a moment from time that never ends, But it shall be upto you to choose what you wish to see when time bends, Because time and light do not embark on leisurely errands. So hold my hand when we reach that height, And do not panic when you witness newer cosmic lights, Manufacturing time to be able to reach those infinite heights, To please Someone and to be the cause of those infinite cosmic delights. Stand beside me only if you are sure, Because to embark on a beautiful journey seeking eternity, Is not meant for those who are unsure, But for those who believe in the Divine sanity. Where light obstructs time but time never obstructs the light, Where I can not hide behind you nor you can hide behind me, Because there everything that is bright is not light, So stay with me my love and what a wonderful journey of love and wonder it shall be!

Time, Light, Space, You and I! In the spaces unknown and very high, There where they say we all go when we die, I fled my Earthly shadows to hide in that space high, Where I did not obstruct light but I let it pass by. Through me into its vast arena of cosmic lights, Where there are no shadows because there are no egos and no fights, Where all that shines is not merely due to bright lights, Because in stars too I have seen some Divine delights. That shine through them in those starry nights, When the moon is silent, the sun is humble and the stars don't rumble, I have witnessed sights during those nights, Which even render the brightest sun humble. It is a journey beyond the realm of time, Where time controls nothing because it loses its infinity, Because there light dictates the values of time, Where light does not bend because it alters its proclivity. There, I have seen time bending in that discreet space, Where all laws of Earthly logic fail to compile anything, There time obeys just the factors of light and space, Where to a naked eye only hollowness spreads giving rise to nothing. In actuality it is there time changes its character, Because light assumes a new form, And when new logics takeover and change the cosmic character, Only then I am able to see a universe governed by laws so uniform. I wish to take you on these secret journeys with me, Irma and I, and I shall show you how reality bends in that dimension, But only if you are willing to allow me, To let me love you even in that highest and exalted mansion, Where light behaves differently because time too bends, I will take you there to steal a moment from time that never ends, But it shall be upto you to choose what you wish to see when time bends, Because time and light do not embark on leisurely errands. So hold my hand when we reach that height, And do not panic when you witness newer cosmic lights, Manufacturing time to be able to reach those infinite heights, To please Someone and to be the cause of those infinite cosmic delights. Stand beside me only if you are sure, Because to embark on a beautiful journey seeking eternity, Is not meant for those who are unsure, But for those who believe in the Divine sanity. Where light obstructs time but time never obstructs the light, Where I can not hide behind you nor you can hide behind me, Because there everything that is bright is not light, So stay with me my love and what a wonderful journey of love and wonder it shall be!

Reliability has become scarce – commitment has become scarce – attachment has become scarce. The very socio-psychological mechanisms that sustain the stability and wellness of a society are beginning to collapse, and when they do, the very fabric of societal stability and sanity will get ripped apart, which I am afraid is no longer a possibility. This has already begun to happen and the situation will get only worse, creating a society full of sociopaths, psychopaths and basically unstable, depressed and superficial human beings with no strength of character and conscience, and no sense of patience and sanity whatsoever. They will crave for appraisal – they will crave for attention – they will crave for flattery – they will crave for perfection. Everything about them will be artificial and superficial. And no matter how much they pretend to present their life as perfect, inside they will be dying every single second of their existence.

The defenses that form a person’s character support a grand illusion, and when we grasp this we can understand the full drivenness of man. He is driven away from himself, from self-knowledge, self-reflection. He is driven toward things that support the lie of his character, his automatic equanimity. But he is also drawn precisely toward those things that make him anxious, as a way of skirting them masterfully, testing himself against them, controlling them by defying them. As Kierkegaard taught us, anxiety lures us on, becomes the spur to much of our energetic activity: we flirt with our own growth, but also dishonestly. This explains much of the friction in our lives. We enter symbiotic relationships in order to get the security we need, in order to get relief from our anxieties, our aloneness and helplessness; but these relationships also bind us, they enslave us even further because they support the lie we have fashioned. So we strain against them in order to be more free. The irony is that we do this straining uncritically, in a struggle within our own armor, as it were; and so we increase our drivenness, the second-hand quality of our struggle for freedom. Even in our flirtations with anxiety we are unconscious of our motives. We seek stress, we push our own limits, but we do it with our screen against despair and not with despair itself. We do it with the stock market, with sports cars, with atomic missiles, with the success ladder in the corporation or the competition in the university. We do it in the prison of a dialogue with our own little family, by marrying against their wishes or choosing a way of life because they frown on it, and so on. Hence the complicated and second-hand quality of our entire drivenness. Even in our passions we are nursery children playing with toys that represent the real world. Even when these toys crash and cost us our lives or our sanity, we are cheated of the consolation that we were in the real world instead of the playpen of our fantasies. We still did not meet our doom on our own manly terms, in contest with objective reality. It is fateful and ironic how the lie we need in order to live dooms us to a life that is never really ours.

The Anti-Fanaticism Sonnet Acceptance begets harmony, Reason begets solution. Solidarity conquers agony, Character conquers differentiation. Humility brings sanity, Forgiveness brings serenity. Patience breeds tenacity, Conscience breeds sanctity. Observation causes insight, Questions cause evolution. Self-correction facilitates might, Self-reliance facilitates ascension. So wake up and trample all fanaticism, Only then we'll be free from sectarianism.

How the Twelve Steps Relate to Soulmaking 1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable. This prompts the ego to yield its ego centrism. 2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. This introduces the idea of a higher unconscious/nous being present as a resource for change. 3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. Here is further letting go by the ego. This links the higher unconscious to God, but it allows those not yet theistic to participate. If one cannot believe in God yet, at least they can still activate the higher unconscious. 4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. In these next steps, we see that purgation is necessary for deeper illumination: 5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. 6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. 7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings. 8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. 9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. This follows Jesus’ instruction: “So if you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift (Matthew 5:23, 24, RSV).” 10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. 11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. Here we see the main point I am making at this time—acknowledgement that meditation is an important, necessary step. Taking the issues raised in the above steps to the still point and offering them to God for healing, aids transformation. 12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

He was twenty years old when he left New England. By the age of thirty he had exchanged Protestantism for Catholicism, anonymity for literary acclaim, and sanity for madness.

Together We Are Humans (The Sonnet) Together we are humans, separate we are apes. Together we are life, separate we are dust. Together we are tools, separate we are weapons. Together we are a boon, separate we are a curse. Together we are power, separate we are insects. Together we are sanity, separate we are lunacy. Together we are serenity, separate we are misery. Together we are harmony, separate we are catastrophe. Together we are diversity, separate we are phobia. Together we are purity, separate we are pollution. Together we are savannah, separate we are a desert. Together we are family, separate we are desolation. Together we are to grow as beings of conscience and character, Or else our lives are futile and will fade away in time's murmur.

The legacy you pass on to your children is your character, not your stocks or bonds. So dig for the best parts of your character and make them surface again and again. When you do this, you will begin to feel your worth and your children will have the added benefit of learning from you.