4
" I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before many a soup kitchen; I squat on many a bench;--then at last the landscape becomes disturbing, mysterious, and familiar. It glides past the western windows with its villages, their thatched roofs like caps, pulled over the white-washed, half-timbered houses, its corn-fields, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the slanting light, its orchards, its barns and old lime trees.
The names of the stations begin to take on meaning and my heart trembles. The train stamps and stamps onward. I stand at the window and hold on to the frame. These names mark the boundaries of my youth. "
― Erich Maria Remarque , All Quiet on the Western Front
11
" Fear holds us back from living the lives we want. Use your 20s to make bold decisions, follow different paths, learn from heartbreak, and figure out who you are. When you’re 30, do you want to look back at the same boring job, the stale relationship that isn’t working, and no stamps in your passport? If you want something different, if you want a life that is filled with experiences, if you want to learn and grow, if you want to make a difference…conquer the fears, believe in yourself, and just do it. You may be questioning something right now. You may be battling thoughts in your mind about taking a leap. Ask yourself what you have to lose if you leap. Ask yourself what kind of stories you want to have. Ask yourself if you’re worth it, if you deserve it. "
12
" Sometimes we are written down in books. Or, someone tells a story in which our name figures. And so we live on, through someone else’s voice…These are the indelible marks others make of us, like the watermarks of high tides, names carved into barks, or stamps branded onto belongings. For what else is history but the collected voices of others, who sing a chorus of what once was. It is not words but voices that are the inscriptions seared onto pages, into minds, of the fragments others glean, as we live our lives in passing.Flitting and fl eeting, we rub off as we move through, and in our wake is cast the dust of the stars that we become. And sometimes it is caught on the fingers of others, and they press that gold to their lips, where it glistens, an eternal testimony to the fact that they adored us: So we, those of us whoremember, we grow more golden as we age, as if cast into statues that commemorate the splendor of those who loved us, and those we were privilegedto love. "