The good people leave early, and the bad ones stay at the banquet. Life is a lottery with prizes, but who is the winning ticket? Good people are forever lonely, and the wicked live in herds. One gets used to being reluctant to say "no" when one thinks "yes." Good people suffer from neurosis, and bad people have nerves of steel. Hamlet solved the question long ago— be a villain, so you do not feel the ache! The good people fall first in battle, and the bad ones in the back cry, "Hurray!" Good people sing sad songs, and bad people sing solemn songs. Life is wonderful, but not easy, when you have no sure guarantor... Good people believe in the Good, and the bad ones rely on luck. But today, to triumph over evil, it takes more than a lazy poet's verse! They say that the good will perish, killed by his own goodness. But I live with sincere hope— Good outlives death!
# Good People <p>Good people are rare, like gold in the earth— you must dig deep, sift through much dirt. They don't announce themselves with trumpets; they move quietly, almost invisible, like water finding its own way through the cracks of a broken world.</p> <p>I've met them in unexpected places: a nurse's tired hands at midnight, a stranger's smile to a stranger's sorrow, the old man feeding pigeons in the park though his own stomach knows hunger.</p> <p>They don't keep ledgers of their kindness, don't expect the world to remember their names. They simply do what needs doing— mend what's torn, feed what's empty, listen when everyone else has turned away.</p> <p>Good people are rare because goodness asks nothing in return, demands no applause, requires only the simple, impossible task of seeing another and saying: <em>you matter</em>, <em>your life has weight</em>, <em>I will not abandon you</em>.</p> <p>So when you find them—and you will, if you are quiet enough, watching enough— hold them gently. Don't ask them why. They are the earth's own treasure, the proof that light still lives in the deepest places.</p>
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