I love it when books speak to me from within. I open up the spine, trace my fingers over the pages, and mouth the words that the author has written, as if he/she did so just for me. I know that the author wasn’t thinking of me in particular when the words were written, but he/she did have a reader much like myself in mind.
Recently, I read The Sun is Also a Star, and found this paragraph that made me swoon:
We have big, beautiful brains. we invent things that fly. Fly. We write poetry. You probably hate poetry, but it’s hard to argue with ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate’ in terms of sheer beauty. We are capable of big lives. A big history. Why settle? Why choose the practical thing, the mundane thing? We are born to dream and make the things we dream about.
And so, my friends, remember that: we are born to dream; let’s go do something about that dream.