"I love to paint, to write, to act,"
said the young woman upon the sill.
Another replied, ”Well, where will that get you?”
with furrowed brow and curled up lip.
"Why, can’t you see?"
the young woman began,
her patience worn thin yet worn courteously,
"It will get me to the coast
of a sea of my creation,
or upon that bench in France,
where I met a kindly stranger.
It will take me back in time,
out in space, into the sea,
and then deep inside the chapel
where I left my faith
and toted out betrayal.
"It will bring me to my comforts,
and my hatreds, and my sorrows.
It will surface my regrets,
and ever changing ecstasies,
allowing them to shout and breathe
in ways of my own choosing.
It will bring me to Apollo, T.H. White,
and Hatshepsut, and all while I am
making calls, or forming lists or
stocking shelves. I can wear a smile
through a day of mediocrity, for
in my mind is an unmade bird’s nest,
filled and unfilled with potential and
wonders, the likes of which no
other will ever delight in seeing.
Do not look upon me now with
pity or concern, for in my
'unsuccessful' life, I've lived
out a million existences, catching
dreams like dust on lashes
fallen from abandoned library novels.”
— Karl Urban  (Question: If you were to offer some words of encouragement to anyone from all walks of life, what would they be?)