The wordwas born in the blood,grew in the dark body, beating,and took flight through the lips and the mouth.Farther away and nearerstill, still it camefrom dead fathers and from wondering races,from lands which had turned to stone,lands weary of their poor tribes,for when grief took to the roadsthe people set out and arrivedand married new land and waterto grow their words again.And so this is the inheritance;this is the wavelength which connects uswith dead men and the dawningof new beings not yet come to light.
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.