To sing, to laugh, to dream, to walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood—to cock my hat where I choose—

At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight—or write. To travel any road under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne—

Never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart; yet, with all modesty to say: “My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.”

― Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac