Freedom is a privilege, not a right. And as such, I have no right to ask anything of it, but I have the privilege of giving everything to it.

We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the page.

Memory is a few lines snipped from a larger story that we are privileged to tuck away between the pages of our minds.

I only own something because someone somewhere sacrificed in order to create the situation where I have the opportunity to own it. And therefore, the more I own the more I owe.

Being thankful is cherishing the fact that I have the privilege of ‘having’ in a world where the majority of my fellow human beings know nothing other than the struggle of surviving.

Decisions are the privilege we’ve been granted to have a hand in penning the script of our lives. And in the writing, the question is not the availability of the paper or the pen. The question is the wisdom to use them rightly.

I can only see life as this most miserable accident that I have been forced to endure simply because I refuse to see it as the most astounding plan that I have been privileged to engage.

My life is too often driven by the fear of the next moment verses focusing on the privilege that I have the next moment.

Rights’ are ‘privileges,’ and if I am arrogant enough to demand the former without respecting the latter I will lose both.