You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind. That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.
Yes, this true! I agree wholeheartedly with him. Any writer that needs an audience to complete his work is a show pony, not a stallion of the desert of words.
What is that?
That rumble that I hear inside is not hunger for food.
Fear fighting courage, courage fighting fear and being nothing more than a powerless spectator.
The unfamiliar feeling of being out of control.
God letting me know who’s boss.
Forgive me for my ego.
I’m just getting older,
I’m just growing up.
That rumble is hunger for You. -ME
Once upon a time, say 5 years ago, if you sported this beard, you were a terrorist, harassed at work, made fun of in the street and automatically stereotyped.
Nowadays, even the least hetro of males sport them for fashion. Add some tats, some clever photography and you’re a model.
Sorry guys, you guys ain’t got shit on Muslims who’ve worn them casually and with conviction for 1450 years and are the most widely regarded beard wearers of all time.