Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, and devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I just dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.
— Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash (ch. 36)
I am fast aproaching my twenty-sixth birthday. I may even die someday. Scary thought. I could become a badass hero-type. I just lack proper motivation.