If it rusts, it can never be trusted; if its owner fails to control it, it will cut him; yes, pride is like a blade.

Author.
Red like blood. White like bone. Red like solitude. White like silence. Red like the beastly instinct. White like a god's heart. Red like thawing hatred. White like a frozen, pained cry. Red like the night's hungry shadows. So shooting through the moon in a sigh is like radiant white, scattered red.
~That's me

I do not fight because I think I can win. I fight because I have to win.

~

What's the difference between a king and his horse? I don't mean kiddy shit like "One's a person and one's an animal" or "One has two legs and one has four." If their form, ability and power were exactly the same, why is it that one becomes the king and controls the battle, while the other becomes the horse and carries the king?! There's only one answer. Instinct! In order for identical beings to get stronger and gain the power they need to become king, they must search for more battles and power! They thirst for battle, and live to mercilessly, crush, shred, and slice their enemies! Deep, deep within our body lies the honed instinct to kill, and slaughter our enemies! But you don't have that! You don't have those pure, base instincts! You fight with your brain. You try to defeat your enemies with logic! And it doesn't work! You're trying to cut them with a sheathed sword! That's why you're weaker than me


~Quality reads:
Ralu ~ Mihu's blog

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“The flavour of my life!”
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CHAPTER #19 ~Un nouveau départ
luni, 16 aprilie 2012 || 4/16/2012 05:37:00 p.m.

   Retrăiesc zilnic același plan repetitiv al minții mele, dorind printr-o tulburare a voinței care se manifestă prin idei fixe, prin dorința irezistibilă de a face un act determinat spre o schimbare, și prin asta, ajung și depășesc primul stagiu al introspecției mele, care se numește self-esteem.


   Încă este un termen încă destul de difuz, ce mă face să trec prin niste flashback-uri într-o decepțiune continuă. 


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

                                   Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Totul e incert, totul e nimic...