everyday that we wait to create were just finding others ways to procrastinate.

'Send me a song, when I'm angry' kind of love.

Sometimes when I saw him at a distance – fists in pockets, whistling, bobbing along with his springy old walk – I would have a strong pang of affection mixed with regret. I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head.

We become just by performing just action, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave action.

Written By Aristotle

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