One day I would have all the books in the world, shelves and shelves of them. I would live my life in a tower of books. I would read all day long and eat peaches. And if any young knights in armor dared to come calling on their white chargers and plead with me to let down my hair, I would pelt them with peach pits until they went home.

It was too bad, but sometimes a little knowledge could ruin your whole day, or at least take off some of the shine.

Ahhh. Bed, book, kitten, sandwich. All one needed in life, really.

See, that's the thing about second chances. It's two people that are there for each other and support each other and care about each other no matter how much they want to deny it. It's about one person doing everything they can to make sure the other doesn't fall and vice-versa. Second chances are about holding on to that other persons hand no matter how hard they beg to let go.

But my mother's life was a never-ending round of maintenance. Not one single thing did she ever achieve but that it had to be done all over again, one day or one week or one season later. Oh, the monotony.

It is better to travel with hope in one's heart than to arrive in safety. . . . We should celebrate today's failure because it is a clear sign that our voyage of discovery is not yet over. The day the experiment succeeds is the day the experiment ends. And I inevitably find that the sadness of ending outweighs the celebration of success.

It means that we should celebrate today's failure because it is a clear sign that our voyage of discovery is not yet over.