No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.

In a mind charged with an eager purpose and an unfinished vindictiveness, there is no room for new feelings.

We fight for lost causes because we know that our defeat and dismay may be the preface to our successors' victory, though that victory itself will be temporary; we fight rather to keep something alive than in the expectation that anything will triumph.

In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.

Hurry up, please, its time.

Fading, fading: strength beyond hope and despair climbing the third stair. Lord, I am not worthy Lord, I am not worthy but speak the word only.

With out some kind of god, man is not very intresting