Best Mariana Fulger Thoughts
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If someone holds by mistake a piece of hope, there is always someone else to make it disappear.
Always Someone
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I know my life is a modest play, but Im not its only scriptwriter.
Life
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Science the human minds war with herself the unknown.
Human
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We have agreed to be equal in all rights and responsibilities. How much equal, we have yet to set.
Agreed
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I read out of obligation the obligation of questioning incomplete truths.
Incomplete
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Life provides me both the right and the responsibility of continuously adapting my way of thinking.
Adapting
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When faced with choosing between remembrance and oblivion, I choose to remember... and to forget.
Choose
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Interpretation is a thinker's privilege.
Interpretation
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Picking true from false is a jewelers trade. Telling true from false is the craft of wise.
Craft
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We are people maybe the last meanings, maybe the beginning the illusion of the only hope life.
Beginning
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Not a single truth about the Universe can be proclaimed absolute.
Absolute
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Without continuous knowledge, man's brain reverts to the existential condition of an animal.
Animal
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Roses don't die, they return to the light.
Die
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When the justice falls asleep, wake it up with a poke to the head!
Asleep
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Cowardice is the most squandering trait of a nation.
Cowardice
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Fear has never and will never shape free men...
Fear
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In general, laws are tailored to suit the needs of the ones making them.
General
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Every nation lives by its own intelligence, culture, skill and patience.
Culture
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The advantage of the one singing only inside his soul: he cannot be blamed for clouding other souls.
Advantage
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The advantage of the one coming from nowhere: the soul doesn't drag him back.
Advantage
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The advantage of the one standing at the head of the ones that sing: his chest is filled with wings...
Advantage
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The advantage of the one who did not envisioned himself a ruler of men: he can look back without regretting it.
Advantage
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The advantage of the one writing about hearts of poets: he can hear them beating even in his sleep.
Advantage
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Poetry: souls. In their whisper, the burning of infinity...
Burning
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Who is beyond me? Who cries at the other end of the day? God, where is the light? What have I done with it?
Beyond
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