Quotes About Chance

We always have a chance to make our life beautiful. But its the anger, ego, jealousy, selfishness which hampers our chance.

Life has no rewinds, and no forwards, it unfolds at its own pace so never miss a chance to LIVE today, and make a BEAUTIFUL story for tomorrow.

If you never take a risk, you will never know what changes you need to make.

The sons of Troy are known for their skill in battle, and their deaths will lift your name to the stars. If you miss it, you will miss your chance at immortality.

It was fated long ago, fated a hundred different ways.

Odd that your life can contain such significant trip wires to your future and, even while you wander through them, you have no idea.

the poem is a dice throw on a patch of darkness that may or may not glow

Sometimes before your luck can be good,someone else's has to be bad

Lo malo era que en el mundo real no tenía opción a más vidas. Tienes una y va que chuta. Si la perdía, se acababa el juego.

We overlook just how large a role we all play--and by 'we' I mean society--in determining who makes it and who doesn't.

Life is a present but you must open it.

Temptation leans on the doorbell, but opportunity knocks only once.

Opportunities do not come with their values stamped upon them.

a good heart never had luck

If I should come out of this war alive, I will have more luck than brains. I like to fly, not to kill.

Si la felicidad llama a tu puerta, no la dejes escapar.

He remembered the story of an old man who went into a church one day to reprimand God for never having helped him win the lottery—not once, not even a single little prize, and he was about to celebrate his ninety-seventh birthday. And then, from within a celestial ray of light, God's voice boomed down to him: "Try buying a ticket first.

I verkligheten har vi bara ett val, ta chansen eller missa den.

And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) of which we have no inkling. And it depends on chance whether or not we come upon this object before we ourselves must die.

So, by the working of a contradiction that was one only in appearance, it was at the very moment when I experienced an exceptional pleasure, when I sensed that my life could be one of fulfillment, and should therefore have seen it as having increased in value, that I felt liberated from the anxieties it had hitherto inspired in me, and was prepared to commit it without hesitation to the unsure hands of chance.

And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect. And as for that object, it depends on chance whether we come upon it or not before we ourselves must die.

Memory, instead of being a duplicate, always present before one's eyes, of the various events of one's life, is rather a void from which at odd moments a chance resemblance enables ones to resuscitate dead recollections, but even then, there are innumerable little details which have not fallen into that potential reservoir of memory, and which will remain for ever unverifiable.

Life is incredibly contingent and unexpected.

The coincidences of your life, and the choices you have made in response to them, have brought you to this point . . .