Traders lose because the game is hard, or out of ignorance, or lack of discipline or because of both.

The goal of a successful trader is to make the best trades. Money is secondary.

Beginners focus on analysis, but professionals operate in a three dimensional space. They are aware of trading psychology their own feelings and the mass psychology of the markets.

Amateurs look for challenges; professionals look for easy trades. Losers get high from the action; the pros look for the best odds.

The market does not know you exist. You can do nothing to influence it. You can only control your behavior.

When a beginner wins he feels brilliant and invincible Then he takes wild risk and loses everything.

To be a good trader, you need to trade with your eyes open, recognize real trends and turns, and not waste time or energy on regrets and wishful thinking.

Remember, your goal is to trade well, not to trade often.

Losers bring money into the market which is necessary for the prosperity of the trading industry.

The markets are unforgiving, and emotional trading always results in losses.

Many traders ride an emotional roller coaster and miss the essential element of winning: the management of their emotions.

How do you measure the life of one person against the greater good? Can it ever be the right thing to sacrifice an innocent person? And how do you know what the greater good really is?

Work alone is noble.

Cracks make caves collapse.

I went to the High School for Performing Arts in New York for acting. I've studied it on and off for years and have done some theater and film.

I want everyone to vote. I want everyone to be a part of electing officials. Because when we are not a part, when we don't have a very broad voter base, then we don't have true representation.

Whatever your circumstances, whatever your past, the forces that determine your future are nowhere but within your own heart and mind. It is here that the star of your destiny shines.

Awake thee, my Lady-Love! Wake thee, and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes.

I am the best tennis player who cannot play tennis.

He started keeping a journal - had been, in fact, secretly doing so for some time: the furtive act of a deranged person.

His hands reached for me, gripping my hipbones and pulling me forward. he stared down at me, his voice low. "There are some things I will make time for, Jacqueline.