…and a poignant sorrow overtook me, quite unusual amongst the circumferences of my mind.
I have a keen sense of remembrance of the great moral incompatibilities I have overtook upon myself as a younger man, but I hold steadfast, unearning, unrelenting, for I know I am flawed but good.
I know that great men come across this Earth - but have we forgotten that the men of which we revere and glorify are but not of the superhuman good? Were they not children once, sniveling and groping, and succumbed to the inevitability of immaturity?
I find a great hypocrisy in men, as they sit and worship those who dare to leap across the catacombs of fear and ascend to their own individualistic glory.
Why revere, if not personify? Why must we create a pointless dichotomy of men and great men, realizing, too, that the tools of our personal glory, the key to the amazing potentiality of men, lie solely and purely in the lives we foretake?