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Good luck, tonight, our precious, idiot boys of autumn.

In the End Is Our Beginning.
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger,
The pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
From T.S. Eliot's East Coker (No. 2 of 'Four Quartets')