There’s a lot of stuff I’ve done which I wish I hadn’t. 

And then there’s so many things I want to do but I don’t think I’ll get the chance.

And there are about a million other things which I have to do. 

And a million I mustn’t. 

And between all that doing and not doing and must doing, I feel kind of lost and I just want to sit quietly in a corner and read for eternity behind a fortress made of books. 

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”

-Ernest Hemingway