"I make no apologies for loving the finer things in life or the men I choose to date. I don't feel bad about the person I am. Now, I do have an edge, rawness and realness, and I can tell you I'm going to keep that."

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Failure, then, failure! so the world stamps us at every turn. We strew it with our blunders, our misdeeds, our lost opportunities, with all the memorials of our inadequacy to our vocation. And with what a damning emphasis does it then blot us out! No easy fine, no mere apology or formal expiation, will satisfy the world's demands, but every pound of flesh exacted is soaked with all its blood. The subtlest forms of suffering known to man are connected with the poisonous humiliations incidental to these results.

— William James