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The Alchemist

Posted: February 24, 2012 in Uncategorized

Quotes from The Alchemist
….I stumbled upon in cyberspace… I read this book a long time ago. Its messages resonates across so many of the books I have read and the wisdom of those who have trudged the rugged road.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself,
and that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams,
because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God
and with eternity.

It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.
When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to
achieve it…

To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.
God only rarely reveals the future. When he does so, it is for one reason:
it’s a future that was written so as to be altered.

It’s not what enters men’s mouths that’s evil, it’s what comes out of their
mouths that is.

The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never
to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.

Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead
their lives, but none about his or her own.

…at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us,
and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the worlds greatest lie.

…there is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is
that you do, when you really want something, its because that desire
originated in the soul of the universe. Its your mission on earth.
We have to take advantage when luck is on our side, and do as much to
help it as its doing to help us. Its called the principle of favorability. Or
beginners luck.

No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the
history of the world. And normally he doesn’t know it.

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such
speed. It feels an impulsion … this is the place to go now. But the sky
knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know,
too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond the horizons.
The problem is that the sheeps don’t even realise that they are walking a
new road every day. They don’t see that the fields are new and the
seasons change. All they think about is food and water. Maybe we’re all
that way, the boy mused. Even me – I haven’t thought of other women
since I met the merchant’s daughter.”



The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole —
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments–the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue —
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.