Ma trezisem cu ochii incercanati de dureri inchipuite dar
reale ca fierul rosu pe pielea inca nepregatita,spunandu-mi ca ´´senzatia´´ doare.
Mi-am inchipuit prabusirea tuturor lucrurilor ce au insemnat
sau vor insemna vreodata ceva pentru mine si m-am gasit tare ca piatra dar
plangand.
Sa-mi fi plans raceala sau tocmai gandul ca pot rezista
pierderii lor,pierderii mele?
Sa-mi fi plans capacitatea-mi blestemata de a-mi varsa
fierea in cantitati mai mici sau mai mari in inauntrul meu blestemat de propria
putere.
Am ales insa sa-mi zambesc la gandul ca pielea mi-e de
piatra si viitorul nescris dar deschis total mie.
Am ales sa rad ca piele mi-e doar piele,corpul doar corp dar
sufletul nemuritor.
Am ales sa rad la gandul ca orice lucru ce ma defineste ca
material nu-mi poate provoca durere si ca spiritul e puternic si-mi va zambi
mereu prieteneste atunci cand ii voi urla neputinta spunandu-mi : Pe cine crezi
tu ca minti?!
´´Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man!´´Count of Monte Cristo
´´Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man!´´Count of Monte Cristo
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