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That was the way things worked out: you got a certain fair share of good breaks from life, and you had no right to expect things your way every time.

Algis Budrys
- Life
- Share
- Expect
Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!

William Shakespeare
- Black
- Flower
- Poor