Words of long ago
Burn to the God of War,
And return as the King of Hell,
To imprint scars,
Shaped like birthmarks.
The newborn cries,
Not from fresh air bursting its lungs,
But from the birthmarks,
Soaked in black.
“The scars of the past,
Become the scars of the future,”
Says the Devil.
“Unless we break the cycle,”
Whispers the Angel.
Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick; your friends and parents will: stay in touch.
You don’t have to win every argument; agree to disagree.
Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.
Don’t compare your life to others; you have no idea what their journey is all about.
Over prepare, and then go with the flow.
Be eccentric now; don’t wait for old age to wear purple.
Frame every so-called disaster with these words: “In five years, will this even matter?”
What people think of you is none of your business.
Your children only get one childhood.
If we threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.
Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.
-Regina Brett, 90 years old