twenty-seven years and one million words
We've now lost a couple of homes we'd wanted to rent. We've got a third option now, it's way out in the burbs (believe it or not it's possible to live in do-we-need-a-car-here territory in this country), not far from where my friend Richard and his son live. We have to effectively apply for the place sight (site?) unseen before the owners have even moved out.
It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.
—Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.