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He who becomes the slave of habit, who follows the
same routes every day, who never changes pace, who
does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who
does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion, who prefers black on
white, dotting ones “i’s” rather than a bundle of
emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that
turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in
the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly.

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, who is
unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for
uncertainty, to thus follow a dream, those who do not
forego sound advice at least once in their lives, die
slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read, who does
not listen to music, who does not find grace in
himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies
slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does
not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end
complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain
that never stops, dies slowly.

He or she who abandon a project before starting it,
who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn’t know,
he or she who don’t reply when they are asked
something they do know, die slowly.

Let’s try and avoid death in small doses, reminding
oneself that being alive requires an effort far
greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a
burning patience will lead to the attainment of a
splendid happiness.

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