It stops here. With me and you. It ends with us.
Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise.
It all ends in tears anyway.
The end was contained in the beginning.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.[La fin est dans le commencement et cependant on continue.]
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.
What starts badly can only end better.
We’re brought up to expect a happy ending. But there are no happy endings. There’s only death waiting for us. We find love and happiness, and it’s snatched away from us without rhyme or reason. We’re on a deserted space ship careening mindlessly among the stars. The world is Dachau, and we’re all Jews.
We can only control the end by making a choice at each step.
Those were the endings I found solace in. The ones that said, Yes, you have lost something, but maybe, someday, you’ll find something too.
This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.
There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.
