He was a born again, gone again man.
He was a scorned again, soar again man.

He said “I have things that haunt me so.”
Please just leave, I’d rather stay than just go,
I’d rather pray than just know.
… And can’t you see I’ve got my cross to tow?

He was a born again, gone again man.
He was a throne again, thorn again man.

Can’t you see he’s been saved?
Can’t you see he’s been raised?
He’s been shown the light,
And it’s awfully bright,
And it’s an awful sight, to be beside.

Oh, he’s a born again, gone again man.
He’s an atoned again, alone again man.

photo credit: petesimon

I don’t really talk about my clothing line “QUOTES” Clothing on here. I should. The themes of each (life, art, inspiration) are too similar to not.

Every day short inspirational letters/blog posts are emailed every morning to all the subscribers. So I thought I’d treat you to seven of my favorite ones so far. And although I attribute the letters to the person who’s quote it was inspired by, all letters are written by me and are thus fictional. (Oh, and of course there’s clothing in all this.)

So let’s get started with the letters:

My dear,

Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.

They fish and fish, before realizing they are actually wood-smiths. They fish and fish, before realizing they are actually word-smiths…. They fish and fish before realizing that they do not want to fish. They learn too late that they’d rather follow their own hearts that fish.

My dear, replace fish with work and you’ll see what I speak of.

Truly yours,
Henry David Thoreau

My dear,

You know what I tell myself everytime I write?

Faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death.

I sit on my chair, and force myself to write… and keep writing, until I get to that point where it’s no longer the fear of mortage payments that’s driving me, ’till it’s no longer the thoughts of long days with empty stomachs forcing my fingers to glide over that keyboard – but instead, the thrill of writing one letter after the other, one word after the next, one sentence after the former… until I write for writing in itself.

It’s comparable to riding down a one way dead-end steep highway on a bike with no brakes. At first all you can think about is your death in the more than likely head-busting collision that’s about to happen. But pretty soon you realize that the road is infinitely long and infinitely steep – all you’re doing is gaining speed, and there’s no end in sight. Heck, you can probably ride this thing now with no arms.

And that’s when the fun starts.

Truly yours,
Hunter Stockton Thompson