“I could not become anything: neither bad nor good, neither a scoundrel nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect. And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything; that only a fool can become something.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky
I used the post above for the longest time that it has become overly-entrenched in the general feel of this blog. I failed to noticed how it surreptitiously invaded my psyche, my thoughts on life, an irresponsibility which proved to be to my disadvantage. I only realized this after a reader of mine pointed this out. The quote gave me a strong justification for my mediocrity. Until I decided tonight that I’ve had enough, and that I must become somebody (even if it is tantamount to becoming a fool) or I’ll end up being a nobody.