I suppose one night hundreds of thousands of years ago in a cave by a night fire when one of those shaggy men wakened to gaze over the banked coals at his woman, his children, and thought of their being cold, dead, gone forever. Then he must have wept. And he put out his hand in the night to the woman who must die some day and to the children who must follow her. And for a little bit next morning, he treated them somewhat better, for he saw that they, like himself, had the seed of night in them.
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Every time the plane banked too sharply on take-off or landing, I prayed for a crash, or a mid-air collision -- anything. No more haircuts. Nothing matters, not even bad breath. Life insurance pays off triple if you die on a business trip.
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I don't know anything about luck. I've never banked on it, and I'm afraid of people who do. Luck to me is something else hard work and realizing what is opportunity and what isn't.
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Luck? I don't know anything about luck. I've never banked on it, and I'm afraid of people who do. Luck to me is something else: hard work -- and realizing what is opportunity and what isn't.
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