|The "real" Cyrano de Bergerac|
Often, for me, a writer strikes a cord in my soul and, despite my rather large ego, I have to acknowledge that, no matter how hard I may try, I'm just not going to find a way to say it better. I hope that, someday, someone may find something in my writing that affects them in the same way. Until then, let me share something from another author whose work has reached into my soul with searing clarity:
To sing, to laugh, to dream, to walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood - to cock my hat where I choose -
At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight - or write. To travel any road under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne.
Never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart: yet with all modesty to say; "My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even: but gather them in one garden you may call your own".
Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac