To the dumb question "Why me?" the cosmos barely bothers to return the reply: why not?

If fate is a fragile stained glass that we stand on, then why can't we shatter the oppresive earth we stand on? The answer is simple, we are too weak.

All live to die, and rise to fall.

Mr. Asher, you can resist who you are for only so long. Finally, you just decide to go with fate.

My father had died, and very swiftly, too, of cancer of the esophagus. He was 79. I am 61. In whatever kind of a 'race' life may be, I have very abruptly become a finalist.

The worst days are when you feel foggy in the head - chemo-brain they call it. It's awful because you feel boring. As well as bored. And stupid. And resigned.