...your soul is your own, now, to make of what you will. We are all of us, every one, our own works: we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends … - Lois McMaster Bujold

We are all of us, every one, our own works; we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends of our lives as an artisan presents the works of his hands.

I am not here to vent my feelings. I am here to achieve my goals.

Don't wish to be normal. Wish to be yourself. To the hilt. Find out what you're best at, and develop it, and hopscotch your weaknesses. Wish to be great at whatever you are.

If you desire a man to tell you comfortable lies about your prowess, and so fetter any hope of true excellence, I'm sure you may find one anywhere. Not all prisons are made of iron bars. Some are made of feather beds.