Mistakes are lessons not learned.[ Mistakes are the eggs of regrets, not yet fertilized with accountability.]
Memories are kept and not recalled.
Laughter bleeds bad blood.
Tragedies leave us and offer their condolences through progress away from what led to them. They, tragedies, are meant to carry us, as a society, further from where we were; in this way, they push us to be better. They pull us along to hope we become better, so they will not happen again. If they do happen again, surely it is us, us who remain, who have given our lives; they who have been lost, then, remain as a symbol of where we could be, if only we were to learn and not be complacent, not be unconscious to the world and all that lays ahead of us, ready to be picked up and carried, as we were and continue to be by miracles, tragedies, and wonders of this world and this life.
Life is a surprise we merely try to comprehend, until such time as we wake up to our being surprised, and follow, again, with attempts at comprehension.
Favorites should be fluid, right? They should change as we do, as our experiences do, as our outlooks do. If I still had the same favorite book as when I was a child, I would be reading nursery rhymes. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, and they do come back for children, but my point remains: There is no age at which point we cannot change our minds; so, too, our favorites can change– and rightly should.
Losing a marriage is as easy as trying to be the winner.[ You can lose a marriage by trying to be the winner.]
Look at the worst that could happen, then the best. Which is more substantial? Which outweighs the other? If you can hold success in one hand, failure in the other, and not break a sweat, what is holding you back?