At the end of life, at the end of YOUR life, what essence emerges? What have you filled the world with? In remembering you, what words will others choose?

It often feels like I'm not so much living for the present as I am busy making memories for the future.

From the earliest age on, even as we toy with it, we instinctively know there is something mighty about the truth, that it is an immobile, looming star. We grow to crave it.

No one ever went to their deathbed saying, 'You know, I wish I'd eaten more rice cakes.

At the end of life, at the end of YOUR life, what essence emerges? What have you filled the world with? In remembering you, what words will others choose?

It would be difficult to convince me that leaning has no effect whatsoever on the outcome of my bowling.

I am a slow reader, and fast eater; I wish it were the other way around.