The outside wold pressures you into a mold, but if you don't accept that - you gamble with life. Call it gambling.
Take the wold, but give me Jesus; In His cross my trust shall be, Till, with clearer, brighter vision Face to face my Lord I see.
And I will trust that He who heeds The life that hides in mead and wold, Who hangs you alder's crimson beads, And stains these mosses green and gold, Will still, as He hath done, incline His gracious care to me and mine.
True statement: Live it, love it, leave the wold better off than when you got here.