wind

What a man does, that he has. 
What has he to do with hope or fear? 
In himself is his might. 
Let him regard no good as solid but that which is in his nature, 
and which must grow out of him as long as he exists. 
The goods of fortune may come and go like summer leaves; 
let him scatter them on every wind 
as the momentary signs of his infinite productiveness.

-=Ralph Waldo Emerson=-