Although I didn't write myself off as a complete failure, all illusion and romance was gone. I was no longer able to inflate myself; I had disappointed my own expectations and was genuinely worried about dying in the streets.

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.

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

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.

Is it so wrong to just live life and enjoy it? Between fun and function, why must we choose the latter?

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.

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