Mankind, by its nature, is a beast of passions, of hate, of anger, of joy, of hope. He is a creature of habit as well, written by the past as much as the present. A creature if instinct as much as logic, of emotion as much as intellect.

He is a wonderful, confusing paradox, both hope and despair held in his hands, lost in the shadows of time. Memories of the past and imaginings of the future mix and spread within the halls of mankind.

What measures a man? By what unit, by what length, and breadth, and depth? Has a man any mass?

I do not know. I do know that from what I work.. the works and words I wrote, and write, that I measure myself. I do not know what that measure is, what works and words I have writ weigh in the scales of truth and justice.

All I know it is all I can give. Should I fall, should I fail... should I sleep that final sleep, I can rest, with few regrets, and a knowledge of what love truly is.

It is a realization of the greatness and the divine within all persons, a recognition of their sovereignty, and their rights. if there were one statement I could make on my death bed, it would be one of love. Love not just for those who care for me, but also those who hate. Love not simply for those who would set me free, but for those who would imprison me.

Love is understanding. It is compassion, it is caring and offering of hope.

For if one, such as I can learn such a thing... any man can.