One day, like sand through your fingers, youth will slip from your grasp. Gone for good will be all your hopes, all your dreams and any chance you had of making them real. Father time will have made his mark—etched deep within your skin will be the evidence of the time he spent with you. Your attributes will inevitably give way—losing their longtime battle with gravity they stubbornly succumb to its powerful pull as you cling desperately to the hope that no one has noticed and work feverishly to make sure they don't. All you ever knew and all you ever had to offer will become useless to you—nothing more to give and no one left to use. And the only ones by your side will be the ones you didn't wrong along the way.
— Robert C. Robinson