Sonnet 92
But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end;
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex
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People were people, no matter their title, and some desires were universal. Unfortunately, the ability to fulfill them was not.
In this, I came to understand the choice at the heart of leadership: to pursue big dreams and suffer the consequences, or narrow one’s ambitions in an effort to get along. For me, there was only one choice. I knew of no way to become someone else, and so I chose to be myself, and in doing so, to serve a cause greater than myself. I decided that accomplishment mattered more than credit, more than popularity, more than the title. It was not that I didn’t want those things; it was that having them in the absence of action and risk and courage would have been empty. There were easier ways to pursue mediocrity. And so I chose not to wallow or to be distracted from my dreams, but instead to think inventively and creatively about a path our young state would follow. I wanted that state to be a flourishing one, a just and peaceful, and a moral one. And so I let myself dream, and I refused to give in to cynicism.
''No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest. Go, pronounce his present death, and with his former title greet Macbeth.''
However, I must give myself credit for a little sense on one occasion, at least. And it was a serious occasion, too-a crisis in my life-a crisis when I stood watching my dreams and my plans for the future and the work of years vanish into thin air. It happened like this. In my early thirties, I had decided to spend my life writing novels. I was
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The title is Ulysses'
'Is it about the Odyssey?'
'No, it’s about how prosaic life is today.'
'And so?'
'That’s all. It says that our heads are full of nonsense. That we are flesh, blood, and bone. That one person has the same value as another. That we want only to eat, drink, fuck.
The Invisible Life Of Addie LaRue
The shop girls are right. There is no author’s name. No photo on the back.
No sign of Henry Strauss, beyond the simple, beautiful fact that the book is in her hands, the story real.
She peels back the cover, turns past the title to the dedication.
Three small words rest in the center of the page.
I remember you.
