The secret of true happiness is peace —

not the peace of stillness, but the kind that rises when the soul is free.

Not freedom of place, but of presence:

when one no longer lives to posture, please, perform, or be perceived.

My joy is not bound to titles or applause.

I am not my career — I am my becoming.

I was born victorious; success moves toward me effortlessly,

as breath returns to the body.

Beauty, too, is not a pursuit.

It already lives within me — quiet, radiant, self-knowing.

No serum, no surgeon, no sorcery can perfect what is already divine.

I choose the organic, the real, the untouched —

the kind of beauty that breathes.

Friendship, to me, is wit and laughter —

a lightness of spirit that celebrates life.

When it turns heavy, shrouded in envy or drama,

I let it go with compassion.

Those who choose misery cannot walk beside the light.

Men — wondrous creatures — are meant to season life, not define it.

Salt, not sustenance.

A whisper, not the wind.

Children are not obligations, but sacred choices..

like the decision to carry a song or silence.

Both have their beauty.

Parents, too, are not sculptors of the soul.

If they gave light, we honor it;

if they gave shadow, we rise beyond it.

Freedom is the courage to sit in stillness —

to feel the ache, the emptiness, the longing — and remain whole.

Resilience is not learned; it is earned

in the quiet hours when you refuse to abandon yourself.

Those who master this art —

to stand unshaken in solitude — are truly free.

Moving on is not a command.

Life itself moves us.

And in the end, death will do what time always promised —

carry us home.