Game: Getting Over It with Bennett Foddy

The mountain seems more a soulless thing,
More like a shape of ancient fear,
In the dark, and the winds of chaos born
In terms of noise and selfless heaven
The presence crouched, enormous and austere,
Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.

I stand above the roar of the surf,
Cling to the shore until...
And that kept my hand:
A pinch of Golden sand.
How little is left! Grains of sand fall
Through the fingers my in depth
And I am shedding tears... fingers clutching?
A grain of sand can not catch!
Clench your fist, that will remain in him?
I can save at least one,
At least the grain of sand from wind and waves?
All that we see and all we seem
Then a dream in a dream will be...

Oranges - sweet, juicy fruit,
Locked in bitter peel.
But it does not Express my attitude to difficulties
I just want the bitterness,
Is that coffee, grapefruit, licorice.

She smiled in defeat,
Invincible eyes.

Your pain because it breaks the shell that hid you from understanding things. To the heart of the fetus could be brought before the sun, his strong bone needs to crack. And so you have to know your pain. And if your heart never ceased to marvel at the wonders that life brings you every day, your pain would seem no less wondrous than joy.

Life has no regrets.
The only lessons.

Doubt is a traitor: because of him we have a lot to lose, afraid to take a chance.

It is better to forget and smile,
Something to remember, filled with sadness.

Laugh and whole world laughs with you.
Don't try to pour tears no one will hear.
But those who in sorrow the world will give his peace,
Let myself from the troubles and problems barely breathing.

Your failure is a metaphor. To understand its essence, please continue to rise.

Make anger your enemy.
The mountain is waiting for someone who knows only victory and are unbeaten.
Blame yourself, not others. Only through the failures of your goals you will overcome those who are superior to them.

When the court is silent, secret thoughts
I call the voices of the past -
Loss all come to my mind
And old pain I'm sick again.

Of words all kinds that flow down the pen and more sad can not be than "if...then".

No matter how high I have risen, for me, is always followed by a dog called Ego.