I love this poem from my favorite author. It reminds me that there is always hope.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king
It’s that “Not all those who wander are lost;” line that really gets to me. To be honest, in life and in fiction I’d rather spend my time with those that have wandered a little bit than those that always knew their path. Though if I were to be perfectly honest, I fall more into the boring camp myself. If if helps though I would attribute this less to knowing something…
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