No human endeavour can ever be wholly good... it must always have a cost.

Could it be fear? But what could be worse than living a sad, gray life, in which every day is the same? What could be worse than the fear that everything will disappear, including my own soul, and leave me completely alone in this world when I once had everything I needed to be happy?

I am finally glad to see that the jury is looking at me.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Written By Charles Simic

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