We play the hands of cards life gives us. And the worst hands can make us the best players.
I know that you believe that you understood what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.
We inhereit from our ancestors gifts so often taken for granted... Each of us contains within... this inheritance of soul. We are links between the ages, containing past and present expectations, sacred memories and future promise.
Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.
Why do writers write? Because it isn't there.
Let us so live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.