One Thing Is About To Be Finished,

All Roads Lead To Johannesburg.

There Are Voices Crying What Must Be Done, A Hundred, A Thousand Voices. But What Do They Help If One Seeks For Counsel, For One Cries This, And One Cries That, And Another Cries Something That Is Neither This Nor That.

Let Me Not Be Afraid To Defend The Weak Because Of The Anger Of The Strong, Nor Afraid To Defend The Poor Because Of The Anger Of The Rich.

In The Deserted Harbour There Is Yet Water That Laps Against The Quays. In The Dark And Silent Forest, There Is A Leaf That Falls. Behind The Polished Panelling The White Ant Eats Away The Wood. Nothing Is Ever Quiet, Except For Fools

It Was Not His Habit To Dwell On What Could Have Been, But What Could Never Be.