It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. 

Theodore Roosevelt


Falling through space

Did I only begin falling

through space

when I left the earth’s atmosphere?

Or have I always been falling


Through a chasm of the universe

Expecting to crash into something solid?

I know the crash will come

But not today.


I fall further

Through an invisible floor

Which neither hurts nor heals.

I know the crash will come.

The tinny sound of my breath

Bounces off the inside

Of my helmet.

I am alive.