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William Shakespeare

sucesso

O, what is success, but a fleeting illusion? A fickle mistress, taunting mortal souls, With promises of glory and affirmation, Yet beckoning us into treacherous roles. Does success reside in accolades won, In laurels placed upon a victor's brow? Or in the wealth amassed when day is done, And riches piled high, we know not how? But, lo, success is not defined by these, Nor by the fleeting pleasures it may bring. For what good is a life left to appease, If hollow triumph be the only thing? True success lies not in external gain, But in the journey of the human soul, The battles fought, the wisdom to attain, And the strength to rise from failure's toll. For it is in failure that success is born, When hearts are shattered and dreams laid bare, When we rise anew, though our spirits torn, And find the courage to persist and dare. Success resides in perspective, my dear, In finding purpose deeper than mere gain, In daring to explore what lies unclear, And in embracing both pleasure and pain. So let us not be slaves to false ideals, But chart our course by virtues of the mind, For true success is found in what one feels, And in the richness of a life well-timed. Thus, let not success be mere vanity, But rather the essence of humanity.