journey VS race

Take your time and do it properly, don’t rush and make mistakes thinking you have to make a million bucks in 5 minutes. It’s get rich slow, not get rich quick.

cheers
r

Why have you ‘lost’ an opportunity Jess?

I think of my IP’s as gaining a growing investment and it’s growth enables me to enter other opportunities?

“Money is a currency, like electricity and it requires momentum to make it Effective”
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A race also has a finish line….a journey may not

______________________

I know I can, I know I can

Hey..Gramyre..

Maybe once the race is over…the journey begins [buz2]
REDWING

“Money is a currency, like electricity and it requires momentum to make it Effective”
Count The Currency With This Online Positive Cashflow Calculator

The process is always a race but if you cant handle the pace it turns into a journey

If you know how to get where you want to be then why take so long….

“Never argue with an idiot, as they will bring you down to their level and beat you with experience”

In view of all our impending deaths, the race seems futile. The scenic route will do me just fine.

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW
A.B. (Banjo) Paterson

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,

He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,

Just “on spec”, addressed as follows: “Clancy, of The Overflow”.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,

(And I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar)

‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:

“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where

he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy, visions come to me of Clancy

Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the western drovers go;

As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,

For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy

Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city

Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle

Of the, tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,

And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,

Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me

As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,

For townsfolk have no time to grow; they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,

Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal –

But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of “The Overflow”.