It Was A Lone Voice In The

Each Man Is Master Of His Own Death, And All That We Can Do When The Time Comes Is To Help Him Die Without Fear Of Pain.

Life Had Already Given Him Sufficient Reasons For Knowing That No Defeat Was The Final One.

There Had Never Been A Death So Foretold.

The Truth Was That I Could Not Manage My Soul, And I Was Becoming Aware Of Old Age Because Of My Weakness In The Face Of Love.

He Who Awaits Much Can Expect Little.