We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered. – Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

You’re only as sick as your secrets. – Author Unknown

My great day came and went, I do not know how. Because it did not pass through dawn when it came, nor through dusk when it went. – Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin