In this world, there are those that spend their lives working, and those that spend their lives living. I do not see how any man can afford to spend his life doing that which he does not love, but yet the world is filled with these men that spend their lives as slaves to work. Their computers are their ploughs and their blackberries are their axes, tools in a work that they do not love. I cannot bear to see evidence of the reality, which is that these men have pledged themselves to hard labor from which they will never be relieved. Their raccoon eyes, surrounded by black pools of exhaustion, are evidence that their work leaves them scarred. The feeling that one is on a merry-go-round, continuously going around, never satisfied with where it is going haunts these men until they die. Why drag about this corpse of that soul of yours if do nothing but harm it even more? There is no use hiding behind the shield of excuses; nothing is at last sacred but your love of your own life.

Man cannot be happy and strong until he lives with his dream. It is of no matter whether he reaches the extremity of his dream or if he can only take a few steps; the most important truth for him is knowing that he is living at least some part of his dream. The man who lives without trying to succeed in his passion lives a life of lies, because he loves not what he does. You can never take the dream out of the man; it lives on within him forever, even if it has been pushed to the darkest corner of his soul. For the man who follows what he wants, high be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, because he is iron strong. He is not afraid of being poor, having no home, or having no important role in society. All that matters to him is that his heart and passion thrive on his dream.