I feel sorry for the person who can't get genuinely excited about his work. Not only will he never be satisfied, but he will never achieve anything worthwhile.
I sit on a man's back, choking him and making him carry me, and yet assure myself and others that I am very sorry for him and wish to ease his lot by all possible means -- except by getting off his back.
I'm sorry for blaming you...
For everything I just couldn't do?
And I've hurt myself by hurting you?
There's nothing I wouldn't do to hear your voice again?
Sometimes, I want to call you, but I know you won't be there?
It's hard to say goodbye w