The summer has ended. The garden withers. The mornings become chill. I am thirty, I am thirty-four -the years turn dry as leaves.' - James Salter

It's just that it's hard to believe in greatness...

One must have heroes, which is to say, one must create them. And they become real through our envy, our devotion. It is we who give them their majesty, their power, which we ourselves could never possess. And in turn, they give some back. They do not last forever. They fade. They vanish. They are surpassed, forgotten — one hears of them no more.

There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands.