Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
These two poems pretty much sums it all up. One of my favorite two poems, Invictus by William Ernest Henley and If by Rudyard Kipling.
9Gag posted a comic strip to complement these two poems and it basically explains pretty much what is necessary to be done and what is not. Enjoy
If you can’t view it, click here:
Part 1: http://9gag.com/gag/4182144
Part 2: http://9gag.com/gag/4184015
I don’t regret whatever I did. I’m no Gandhi. I do however regret the fact that I should have done it much earlier. But still, I take solace in the fact that I had to do what I had to do. And I’m glad I did it. I’m no saint, but a sinner. A foolish one too. However, every sinner has an opportunity to be a saint, that is true.
As sadistic and dark as it sounds, I have never been this satisfied ever with myself and I’m enjoying every moment of the consequences of what I did
You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.
I prefer the latter if it’s for the betterment of the higher good.