It's like those eerie stories nurses tell,Of how some actor on a stage played Death,With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart,And called himself the monarch of the world;Then, going in the tire-room afterward,Because the play was done, to shift himself,Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly,The moment he had shut the closet door,By Death himself. Thus God might touch a PopeAt unawares, ask what his baubles mean,And whose part he presumed to play just now.Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true!
I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have ? life itself.