What's the point in living when I die anyway? Why do we have to live, even if we are dead most of the time?
What's the point in being happy or collecting experiences? When I die, they won't matter.
Wise people die, stupid people die, rich people die and someone else will inherit their fortune.
Will I ever meet my true love, and if I do, how can I know it's true?
Sometimes I look into the mirror and I am genuinely amazed at my beauty, but then I get sad because I know I won't be beautiful for long; some day I will be old, wrinkly and grey, but perhaps when I'll be 64 years old I will be mature and wise enough to know that things like beauty and youth won't matter, as long as you're happy with your life. I will wear my purple summer hat and keep on truckin'.