Marc P. Robinson

Ahh, that mountain of self-discovery. Every time you have reached the summit, the clouds clear and you see there is still a ways to go. Don’t look up with thoughts of despair; thinking how much further do I have to go?! Take a moment and look back to see how far you have come. Don’t lose sight of your accomplishments, and focus on the continued commitment to self-discovery and development.

Whether he knew it or not, the life he lived was his penance. Punishing himself, for what he believes are his sins. Consciously or subconsciously, he creates the world he lives in. Never believing that he is deserving happiness, deserving joy. His self-destructive nature, in his eyes, and his eyes only, is justified. Everyone is deserving absolution, but he needs to understand, that he is the only one able to forgive himself.

It’s the ones that stayed after the Exodus, that I knew were real and could handle the truth; that would stay with me on my journey, for better or worse.

I want to be free; to escape. I use my pen as oars; the paper as my boat. I fill these pages to keep me afloat. I ride the waves of turmoil, so I can paddle away to calmer seas.

It’s not the adversity, but how you face it.

Every time I think I have reached the peak, I look up and see I still have a ways to go. But I look back and see just how far I have come.

We know there is intention and purpose in the universe, because there is intention and purpose in us.

Every man supposes himself not to be fully understood or appreciated.

Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.

Lord save us all from a hope tree that has lost the faculty of putting out blossoms.

I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.

Rome – the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.

Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness.

What is it they want from a man that they didn’t get from his work? What do they expect? What is there left of him when he’s done his work? What’s any artist, but the dregs of his work? the human shambles that follows it around. What’s left of the man when the work’s done but a shambles of apology.

Appreciation is a wonderful thing: It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.

The remedy is worse than the disease.

Originality is nothing but judicious imitation. The most original writers borrowed one from another.

When I was praised I lost my time, for instantly I turned around to look at the work I had thought slightly of, and that day I made nothing new.

Wisdom is better than silver and gold. I was hopeless, now I’m on hope road.

He does not care for flowers. Calls them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and thinks it is superior to feel like that.

Questioning is not the mode of conversation among gentlemen.