He was in conflict with himself. There was no enjoyment in the thought that he had escaped a great danger, and in the midst of his uneasy reflections he had a sudden breathless conviction that she made him feel old because he loved her. Then he felt a hatred of himself, gathering into one mighty heap all the fierce and bitter hatred he had cherished for others and pouring it out on himself.

Trusting fate is like gambling on an unknown outcome with unknown consequences.

I wonder what inspires gamblers. Is it the adventure or the love of laziness?

How many beers do y'all think it takes before one internationally scientist turns to another and says, 'Dude, bet you twenty bucks I can levitate a frog with a magnet?' ' Sam drawled.

I have failed many times, and that's why I am a success.

So much of the theatrical can leave you with a yearning for the real. The real is suddenly and starkly there right at the city__ edge and extends for thousands of square miles of desert and mountain and canyon with which human beings can do almost nothing profitable other than to leave it be and just look at it.