Time never heals, it just represses.
Healing is a choice.
Freedom flows through our veins
And the fame is inside of us.
We all are rulers
We all are heroes.
But no one is our king.
You give them shit,
They’ll gobble it up.
You give them gold,
And they’ll fuss that it’s not shiny enough.
Everyone is a prophet. Everyone has some revelation to enlighten the world. Everyone has a God inside that is clawing at their insides. It’s a choice if a person accepts the path to become a legend, or just muffle the voices because he isn’t heroic enough.
I see no difference between reality and fantasy. Reality is just the fantasy of the masses.
Who is greater — God who needs faith to stay relevant, or men who create a god through their sheer belief?
An illusionist can never be awed by his illusions, this is the greatest irony in the world.