Man is not an end but a beginning. We are at the beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I'm a beginning, not an end.
We come to beginnings only at the end.
Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.
There are men here and there to whom the whole of life is like an after-dinner hour with a cigar; easy, pleasant, empty, perhaps enlivened by some fable of strife to be forgotten - before the end is told - even if there happens to be any end to it.
The epic implications of being human end in more than this: We start our lives as if they were momentous stories, with a beginning, a middle and an appropriate end, only to find that they are mostly middles.
A beginning is the end of something, always.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
At the end of the day, I'm a man.
For the woman, the man is a means: the end is always the child.