"May 3, 1849.--I have never felt any inward assurance of genius, or any
  presentiment of glory or of happiness. I have never seen myself in
  imagination great or famous, or even a husband, a father, an influential
  citizen. This indifference to the future, this absolute self-distrust,
  are, no doubt, to be taken as signs. What dreams I have are all vague and
  indefinite; I ought not to live, for I am now scarcely capable of living.
  Recognize your place; let the living live; and you, gather together your
  thoughts, leave behind you a legacy of feeling and ideas; you will be most
  useful so. Renounce yourself, accept the cup given you, with its honey and
  its gall, as it comes. Bring God down into your heart. Embalm your soul in
  Him now, make within you a temple for the Holy Spirit, be diligent in good
  works, make others happier and better.

  "Put personal ambition away from you, and then you will find consolation
  in living or in dying, whatever may happen to you."
  
    -- The Fourth Published Entry of the Intimate Journal of Henri-Frédéric
       Amiel

---

There have been presentiments in my past, but I don't know of what
substance they are in actuality.  At times, it has been whiffs of my own death,
at others some sense of fate to be an exemplar for some unknown. Notions of
ambition or power seem utterly unnatural to my constitution. I cannot see what
actual gain there is in their pursuit. 

My only enduring ambition is to explore the possibility of homoiconicity with
the universe. All else is secondary.

This reminds of a story [1]:

  There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many
  years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came
  to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. 

  "Maybe," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing
  with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.

  "Maybe," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of
  the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came
  to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "Maybe," answered the farmer. The
  day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the
  army.  Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The
  neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. 

  "Maybe," said the farmer.  

---

[1] http://www.katinkahesselink.net/tibet/zen.html