There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain⦠Or so says the legend.
Oh, he did look like a deity β the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.
If even one person says that I inspired him or her to become a better version of himself or herself then I will feel happy. But wearing branded clothes, holding high designations, and possessing cool visiting cards don't allure me. That's not how legends are made!
Solitude is the soil in which genius is planted, creativity grows, and legends bloom; faith in oneself is the rain that cultivates a hero to endure the storm, and bare the genesis of a new world, a new forest.
Progress requires sacrifice of security. And the only reason, humanity keeps on progressing, despite the fact that most of the human population do not sacrifice their security, is that, on behalf of the whole humanity, a handful of bravehearts do all the sacrificing and pain- bearing, yet people canβt manage to comprehend that we couldnβt have become the masters of this planet by living a comfortable and secure life. To have great progress, one must sacrifice small pleasures.