There dwells a certain art in the ordinary motions of life: in the manner by which one undertakes and completes his work; in the choice of a subject for conversation and in the unfolding of its course; in the preparation of a meal; and even in the singular ways one may read or write. In each of these gestures, the self discloses itself more fully than it knows. The inexhaustible variety of such small everyday arts, multiplied across men, forms the very substratum from which the great cycles of high art are nourished. Indeed, the lives of the great artists testify that no artistic work of genius is born ex nihilo, but rather ripens upon this ground of the quotidian.

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فَمَا أُشرِفُ الأَبقَاعَ إِلّا صَبابَةً
وَلا أُنْشِدُ الأَشعارَ إِلّا تَداوِيا

وَتُجرِمُ لَيلى ثُمَّ تَزعُمُ أَنَّني
سَلوتُ وَلا يَخفى عَلى الناسِ ما بِيا

فَلَم أَرَ مِثلَينا خَليلَي صَبابَةٍ
أَشَدَّ عَلى رَغمِ الأَعادي تَصافِيا

فَأَنتِ الَّتي إِن شِئتِ أَشقَيتِ عِيشَتي
وَأَنتِ الَّتي إِن شِئتِ أَنعَمتِ بالِيا

وَأَنتِ الَّتي ما مِن صَديقٍ وَلا عِدًا
يَرى نِضوَ ما أَبقَيتِ إِلّا رَثى لِيا

— قيس بن الملوح

ورة "وإلّا فَبَغِّضها" مباشرةً يكول:
على مِثلِ لَيلى يَقتُلُ المَرءُ نَفسَهُ

أما أبياته اللي يصلي بيها باتجاه بيت ليلى مو عالقبلة، فهاي على كولة تميم:
الذَّنبُ ذَنبُ الهَوَى لا ذَنبُ شيعَتِهِ
له الإمامةُ فهو الآمِرُ النّاهي

The wise of all ages have always said the same, and the fools, always in the majority, have always done the opposite; and so it will continue.

— Arthur Schopenhauer

مَا كَانَ فَهُوَ مَا يَكُونُ، وَالَّذِي صُنِعَ فَهُوَ الَّذِي يُصنَعُ، فَلَيسَ تَحتَ الشَّمسِ جَدِيدٌ

[سِفر الجامعة 1:9]

ويُقالُ إذا أَقْبَلَ اللَّيلُ: اِسْتَأْنَسَ كُلُّ وَحْشِيٍّ، وَاِسْتَوْحَشَ كُلُّ إِنْسِيٍّ.

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❨❨ المَقاييس 6: 91 ❩❩.

Soldier of Fortune (n.)
One who follows a military career wherever there is promise of profit, adventure, or pleasure

In this time and age, when it comes to intellectual pursuits and goals of life, the gifted man feels more and more like a soldier of fortune: he finds in himself the ability to do many great and noble deeds, yet he looks around and finds nothing great nor noble. For such a man, the belief in a monumentum aere perennius¹ is eroded, and there is no cause or belief captivating enough; alluring enough, for him to commit to.

A soldier of fortune is a man of prowess and potential, yet lacking in purpose. He roams the land in search of a worthy pursuit and a great adventure. He is a man sick of squandering his strength in petty battles and rusting his sword in idleness. He has found no lord greater than himself and no imperative captivating him enough to sacrifice his freedom and life on its altar. He is a man weary of himself, thus he "beats himself against the bars of his cage" to use Nietzsche's words. A man like this seems to answer to no master, follow no leader, and abide by no rule, not out of defiance, but disappointment, for he found nothing worthy of him.

This sentiment reminds me of a similar one. I remember reading an orphan line that says «what will happen to us, we who want to believe but cannot?». In a similar vein: what will happen to us, we who sought greatness but found none? In this barren desert, it seems that men find the aimless wander either a reason to sulk, or to laugh.
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¹A memorial lasting longer than bronze