They never taste who always drink!
They always talk who never think.
What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield;
And what is else not to be overcome;
Trust no future, how e'er pleasant
Let the dead past bury its dead,
Act, act in the living present
Heart within and God overhead.
It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am master of my fate;
I am the captain my soul.
(W.E. Henley: Invictus)