Writings on the wall

Words I read recently and noted down for self-reflection:

You can go travelling not only to the outside world, but also inside your mind. Walk around the neighbourhood, the nearest park, and see the leaves fall.
If books had to replicate our exact experience of the world to be useful, the only books worth reading would be written by ourselves.
We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn’t. We’re terrorized and flattened by our trivialities, we’re eaten up by nothing.
I suppose, in the absence of universal uncertainties, we are our own best laboratory.
It’s life. Activities available. Just add meaning. Try again tomorrow.