Synopsis: Those who say that opportunity knocks at your door only once do not say the truth. "I am ready and standing at your door every morning, waiting for you to wake up, rise and fight and win me. Every day," says opportunity, "I belong to him who says, 'I can!'"
This truth is echoed in witty quotes such as "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity," and "The harder I work, the luckier I get," (originally attributed to Samuel Goldwyn) that have been passed on to us for many years through the works of an endless list of thinkers such as Napolean Hill, Earl Nightingale, W. Clement Stone, and Claude M. Bristol.
Opportunity is not a random happenstance, the result of some mysterious factors. It may seem random, but let me assure you, we live in a deterministic world ordained by cause and effect. The goal achiever knows this. He doesn't wait for opportunity. Every day, he creates it. A goal achiever does this by creating in his mind a definite sense of his goal, a positive mental attitude filled with faith and belief, and relentless action in the direction of his goal. So should we.
If we have failed in the past, we must forget our losses and failures. Dwelling on losses will create more losses. We must think, instead, of the past victories and success we've had, no matter how small they were. That will propel us into the direction of success.
What has been done cannot be undone. Quit thinking of it. Start afresh, anew! Now! The future's pages are white as snow. We are free to write anything on them. Every morning is a brand new chance to move even closer towards your goal. Every night is a new chance to introspect and guide our feet back on to the path of our goal.
They do me wrong who say I come no more
When once I knock and fail to find you in;
For every day I stand outside your door,
And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win.
Wail not for precious chances passed away;
Weep not for golden ages on the wane;
Each night I burn the records of the day;
At sunrise every soul is born again.
Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,
To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;
My judgements seal the dead past with its dead,
But never bind a moment yet to come.
Though deep in mire wring not your hands and weep,
I lend my arm to all who say, I can!
No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep
But yet might rise and be again a man!
Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?
Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?
Then turn from blotted archives of the past
And find the future's pages white as snow.
Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell;
Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,
Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.