Mother Earth may have had her diamonds for ever, but a Harry Winston only once in her lifetime. My words here will genuflect for those of the man himself. A mark of awe for the one who alone could have understood the darkness from which each of these gems shone to light.
Far too much makes perfect sense.
Far too little makes none.
As the world around you becomes mass-produced into monotony, we ask you to remember this.
Nothing perfect ever rolled off an assembly line.
Perfectly symmetrical, yes, and perfectly attractive. But nothing perfect.
Perfect is breathtaking.
Perfect is inimitable.
Perfect comes from staying awake until 2 a.m., deciding whether to tilt a stone one-hundredth of an inch this way or that.
Perfect is not rational.
Perfect is tempestuous.
Perfect hurts.
Your brain doesn't know perfect. Nor your eye.
The only part of you that knows perfect is the painful way your heart beats in its presence. That part was born knowing perfect.
What will you own that's perfect?
What impossibly beautiful thing waits to become yours?
Find it.
Make it yours.
Bring it out.
Because when you do, your perfection will make the world's heart hurt.
Oh dear God, this made my heart hurt... in a good way of course :) the way perhaps when u hear beautiful music it wants to make u cry?
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