To Make An End Is To Make

I Am Tired With My Own Life And The Lives Of Those After Me, I Am Dying In My Own Death And The Deaths Of Those After Me.

Success Is Relative. It Is What We Make Of The Mess We Have Made Of Things.

Redeem The Time. Redeem The Unread Vision Of A Higher Dream.

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

We Are The Hollow Men We Are The Stuffed Men Leaning Together...