The mass of men worry themselves into nameless graves while here and there a great unselfish soul forgets himself into immortality.
The young men were born with knives in their brain, a tendency to introversion, self-dissection, anatomizing of motives.
The poem is a confession of faith.
It is about your outlook towards life. You can either regret or rejoice.
What I need is someone who will make me do what I can.
Stay at home in your mind. Don't recite other people's opinions.