Archive for the 'I Wish I Wrote That' Category

Are You Too Scared Of Success?

Saturday, December 1st, 2007

Francis Ford Coppola (age 68), five-time academy award winner, director of movies such as: The Godfather, The Conversation and Apocalypse Now, was interviewed this morning on CBS News Sunday Morning.

His life-story attribute that resonated with me most was his tenacity. Although he became quite successful at an early age, he almost faced business financial ruin and was on the verge of bankruptcy. This did not deter him from taking additional risks and rebuilding his enormous success and wealth again. He said in the interview today:

“Life is short and you don’t want to be an old guy counting his last heart beat thinking about all the things you wanted to do that you didn’t do because you were scared. What’s to be scared of in life? In the end it all ends the same.”

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Farewell to Pavarotti

Saturday, September 8th, 2007

“Every artist deserves in the end to be remembered for the best that was in him, and when Pavarotti was at his best, there was nobody better.” This beautiful sentence was written by Terry Teachout, the Journal’s drama critic.

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Attempted Solutions - Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007


I


I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place but it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in – it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
V

I walk down another street.

(By Portia Nelson)

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Poem

Monday, July 2nd, 2007

He prayed ~ It wasn’t my religion

He ate ~ It wasn’t what I ate

He spoke ~ It wasn’t my language

He dressed ~ It wasn’t what I wore

He took my hand ~ It wasn’t the color of mine

But when he laughed ~ It was how I laughed
And when he cried ~ It was how I cried.

(By Amy Maddox, Age 16)

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