Everything belongs to someone else, except the pain of not having it. - Fernando Pessoa

العالم مخلوق لمن ولدوا كي يمتلكوه
لا لمن يحلم بأنه قادر على امتلاكه ،
ولو كان على صواب
لقد حلمت بأكثر مما حلم به نابليون نفسه
ضممت إلى صدري المفترض إنسانيات
أكثر مما ضم المسيح
شيدت في السر فلسفات أكثر من كل ما كتب أي كانط.
لكن كنت وسأكون دائماً مجرد ساكن غرفة في سطح
ولو لم أعش فيھا..
سأبقى دائماً من لم يُخلق لذلك

But there are times in our meditation – and they come to all who meditate – when everything is suddenly worn-out, old, seen and reseen, even though we have yet to see it. Because no matter how much we meditate on something, and through meditation transform it, whatever we transform it into can only be the substance of meditation. At a certain point we are overwhelmed by a yearning for life, by a desire to know without the intellect, to meditate with only our senses, to think in a tactile or sensory mode, from inside the object of our thought, as if it were a sponge and we were water.

We all have two lives: The true, the one we dreamed of in childhood And go on dreaming of as adults in a substratum of mist; the false, the one we love when we live with others, the practical, the useful, the one we end up by being put in a coffin.