I like this quote and thought I'd share it:
"Security is not the meaning of my life. Great opportunities are worth the risk."
I am going through my own personal trials these days - no one is immune to them - it's a matter of when you will go through your personal trials. I ask myself daily - is security worth more than opportunities or are opportunities worth more than security? Is that even a real question? And do you have to give up one for the other - sometimes when you get to the middle of life you just feel like you need to do something different - security isn't all that it is cracked up to be - because there is no security in life - not really - so are opportunities worth the risk or not?
What do you think?
Happy Birthday to Vivian Leigh - man she had a complicated love life and acting career and bad health - but she was fabulous as Scarlett O'Hara - wasn't she? !!!!
"The Olivier's (Vivian and Laurence her second husband) returned to England, and Leigh toured through North Africa in 1943, performing for troops before falling ill with a persistent cough and fevers. In 1944 she was diagnosed as having tuberculosis in her left lung, but after spending several weeks in hospital, she appeared to be cured.
In spring she was filming Caesar and Cleopatra (1945) when she discovered she was pregnant, but suffered a miscarriage. She fell into a deep depression which reached its nadir when she turned on Olivier, verbally and physically attacking him until she fell to the floor sobbing. This was the first of many major breakdowns related to bipolar disorder.
Olivier came to recognise the symptoms of an impending episode – several days of hyperactivity followed by a period of depression and an explosive breakdown, after which Leigh would have no memory of the event, but would be acutely embarrassed and remorseful. "
She suffered from bipolar disorder for years. (I never knew that). She died young with tuberculous. She married three times and both of her ex's loved her all her life - even after their divorces - took part in caring for her. She must have been a lovable person in spite of her disorder.
"In May 1967, she was rehearsing to appear with Michael Redgrave in Edward Albee's A Delicate Balance when she became ill with a recurrent bout of the tuberculosis from which she had been suffering for more than twenty years but, after resting for several weeks, had seemed to be recovering.
On the night of 7 July, Merivale left her as usual, to perform in a play, and returned home around midnight to find her asleep. About thirty minutes later (by now 8 July), he returned to the bedroom and discovered her body on the floor. She had been attempting to walk to the bathroom, and as her lungs filled with liquid, she had collapsed. "
And Scarlett was so strong . . . sometimes it is all an act.