Doubt is the sound the ground makes before it agrees to hold you.

You have rehearsed this fall a thousand times. It has never once happened.

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

The mind builds a wall and calls it a horizon.

Nobody feels ready. Ready is something you notice later, looking back.

Courage is a decision made quietly, a few seconds before anyone can see it.

Fear arrives first, so that you can walk the rest of the way together.

Take the smallest step toward the thing that frightens you, then notice the floor is still there.

Your hands will shake and the work will still get done.

Between the last foothold and the first air there is a moment that belongs to no one.

Let go of the rail long enough to find out what you were holding up yourself.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

In the air you are neither who you were nor who you will be, and it is the most honest place you have ever stood.

The gap is only a gap while you are still standing on this side of it.

Some mornings the person you are becoming has already left a light on for you.

You are assembled, slowly, out of everything you were brave enough to try.

One must still have chaos in oneself, to be able to give birth to a dancing star.

Every version of you is a shed skin somebody else is still describing.

The leap does not end. It changes shape and keeps asking.