But there is one other thing more precious to a man beyond all else. Something one pursues for one’s own sake and not for that of any other. A dream. Some dream of ruling the world, dedicating their entire life to forging the perfect sword. While some can be pursued alone, some are like storms, blowing apart hundreds or thousands of other dreams as they go.
A dream can fortify a man’s life, or it can bring suffering upon it. A dream can make a man feel alive, or it can kill him instead. Even if a man is abandoned by that dream, part of it will remain smouldering in his heart. Every man has envisioned his life in this way, at least once.
A life as a martyr to his dream, his God. To simply exist just because one’s been born is the sort of notion that I hate. I can’t stand it.