How freeing of a thought: instead of worrying about leaving a legacy, to leave no trace of one's existence. How liberating indeed!
How I wish I was like the water,Flowing so freely with every dropLet my every emotion wonder,No need to start, nor even stopHow I wish I was like the fire,Burning with every flame upLeaving a trace of hot desireAs a Phoenix raises its' wings upHow I wish I was like the earth,Raising each flower from the groundSeeing the beauty of death and birthAnd then returning to the groundHow I wish I was like the wind,Hearing each whisper, sound and thoughtA lonesome and wandering little wind,Shattering all that has been soughtOh, how I wish I was where you are,Not separated by empty space, so farIt seems like we're galaxies apart,But we find hope within our heartAnd how I wish I was all of the above,So I can come below and yet forget,The beauty of angels which come down like a doveAnd demons who love with no regret.
The greatest gift you can leave to humanity is the beautiful trace you left behind yourself that invites people to reason, science and peace!
When the mind becomes so completely absorbed in perfect health that all sickness is forgotten, all the powers of mind will proceed to create health, and every trace of sickness will soon disappear. When the mind becomes so completely absorbed in higher attainments and in greater achievements that all thought of failure is forgotten, all the forces of mind will begin to work for the promotion of those attainments and achievements. The person will be gaining ground every day, and greater success will positively follow.
Passion towards a dream is the fuel that fires every trace of impossibility in the environment, paving way for you to win with style.
When you leave a port, ask yourself two questions: What mark you have made on that port and what have you learned from that port?
I’m sorry,” he tells me.I sit down on the bed. He returns to the view of the street below. I follow his gaze and I see the infected walking slowly back and forth.“It’s okay,” I say.“Okay,” he says. He nods. “Good.”He puts the gun under his chin and pulls the trigger.
...Use your finger to trace the scar upon my chest- I lied - it wasn't a knife wound, but a scrape from a nail sliding under a fence to see you...