...If I were an angel of the Lord, I would mark the doors of each of my children's homes with an X, so that plague and misfortune would pass over them. Alas, I lack the qualifications. So when there was still world and time enough I fretted. I nagged. I corrected. I got everything wrong.

If fretting was an Olympic sport, I’d own the gold medal.

We consume our tomorrows fretting about our yesterdays.

We were made to be distracted by life, by story.