Every moment has a limited lifespan, fleeting by the second, withering from one state and blooming into another. Opportunities do not repeat in an endless fashion. The fates cannot be expected to always knock on the door. The real world can be bitter, sweet, or both, or none, to the learned eye. A sane man must be prepared to see when the sight is given, for nothing is promised in advance. There is a nagging belief that fills hopeful heads, that a kind and benevolent design will assure each and every heart with gifts at an appointed hour. Yet it is often nothing more but a compromise with oneself, to avoid regret or a sense of loss, and to keep far away from facing the reality of realities: no one is in control. Cards that are dealt arrive from the shuffled deck of an either random or broader pattern that irregardless baffles the ordinary mind. The only sensible road for a man to follow is a happy-go-lucky path that cares not if lady luck smiles upon or eludes him — where yet he seizes whatever clean fruits abound.