When I was in my teens, I made an appraisal of how comfortable my life could turn out when I became the age I am now. Because of a mechanical failure, the prediction was inexact.

Stressful jobs, loveless marriages, bad food-most people kill themselves slowly every day.

When I was in my teens, I made an appraisal of how comfortable my life could turn out when I became the age I am now. Because of a mechanical failure, the prediction was inexact.

If I want to build wealth to transfer to the next generation, I can let it grow on a tax-free basis.

Perhaps the price of comfort is that life passes more rapidly. But for anyone who has lived in uneasiness, even for a short, memorable duration, it's a trade-off that will gladly be made.

The masses-I love em-they rush for red lights, risking everything to capture a few seconds, only to get home and waste their lives.

As the components of your life are stripped away, after all the ambitions and hopes vaporize, you reach a self-reflective starkness-- the repetitious plucking of a single overwound string.