You only live once?
No we don’t.
We live every day
but we do only die once.
Die inside a lamborghini in a car crash.
Die of alcohol intoxication.
Die on the floor of your Beverly Hills apartment.
Die in a fire trying to save someone.
Die in an explosion of a science discovery.
Die in a war that nobody dares to fight.
Die pretty. Die young. Die dead.
There aren’t famous-everyday-words
but there are famous last words.
We live in a world where
people care more about how you die
than how you lived.
Because how you die says a lot
about how you lived.
A cop who was never late for work his whole life dies.
Of cocaine overdose.
In a brothel.
He will not be remembered
as the responsible officer but the one
that lies dead in a puddle of shame.
YOLO was made to present the idea
of reckless young people not giving a shit about regrets.
It’s somewhat a very suitable expression for them
because honestly, regrets don’t really matter.
They really don’t.
Until we meet our last one.
YOLO, but what if the next moment is your last?
I can’t tell how I’m going to die,
but one thing I do know is that
I don’t want to die dead.
I don’t want to die just like that.
I don’t want to die with a last regret.
I don’t want a YOLO death.
Die pretty. Die young.
You only die once.
“We are very good at preparing to live, but not very good at living. We know how to sacrifice ten years for a diploma, and we are willing to work very hard to get a job, a car, a house, and so on. But we have difficulty remembering that we are alive in the present moment, the only moment there is for us to be alive.”—Thich Nhat Hanh (via psych-facts)
“I carry my own heart.
I carry it like a shield in front of me
so that nobody will know I’m missing a rib.
If my grandchildren ask me,
this is what I will tell them.
When you’re being destructive and
don’t want people to see,
don’t wrap it up like it’s a Christmas gift.
Carry your own heart like the compass
hanging under our rear-view mirror,
always pointing where you’ll learn what it all means.
Carry your own heart when your father
refuses to hold your mother’s hand when they walk.
Carry your own heart and let it choose for itself
what to put inside that is worth the space.
Because these small, and seemingly insignificant, moments
will grow into much bigger ones as you age.
When you meet someone with sharp edges,
carry your own heart -
bare and soft and alive.
Let them cut it open so that the rain
can slip through the cracks to rinse it lightly
and drain away your coarse regrets.
When they throw stones at it,
turn them into pebbles that
bounce off delicately on the ripples.
I know how you hurt and I know how you bleed.
We bruise and we heal.
We fix old wounds with new stitches,
and that’s what we’re born to do.
Lock it up but slip the keys
under the tongue of someone
who carries his own heart, too.
When I grow old,
my heart will not anchor me down like a
silver-cross necklace of remorse,
but will arch my back into a rainbow
spreading across the Manhattan sky after the storm.
And if my grandchildren ask me,
this is what I will tell them:
Like a shield,
through the fire and through the flames,
I carry my own heart.”—Diane Poon, “I Carry My Own Heart (Like a Shield)” (via eyesayes)