We are linked by blood, and blood is memory without language.
It must happen to everyone. The last time you make love, you can't know it will be the last.
For what is delusion but the prelude to hurt. And what is hurt but the prelude to rage.
Be your own editor/critic. Sympathetic but merciless!
The despairing soul is a rebel.
In no other sport is the connection between performer and observer so intimate, so frequently painful, so unresolved