“It’s melancholy when you realise there are more things you’d like to do, or write, than you’ll have time to, in your entire life. The endless triage of decent thoughts is necessary, a bit miserable, and a strong argument for the desirability of immortality. You cling even to the ones you doubt you’ll start, as long as you can bear, just in case you find the time you know you won’t.
But there’s another category of ideas, a bit less frustrating, slightly more confusing, and necessitating a different response. These are those that are really, in one’s own humble opinion, decent, with a potentially great audience, and without question worthy of pursuing…but that you know you’d mess up. If you even had time to start…”