gearhart, oregon . february, 2009
this evening, i walked over to the shelf that houses the books i gathered to me like friends while i was in college. as i flipped through a few, i came across the scribbles in the margin around one paragraph that had stopped me many years ago and caused me to sit in the quiet and think think think. as i read it again tonight, it has the same effect.
We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.
Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning