4:00 am is the best time to come up with this kind of stuff

I don't have much more to give, nor have I everything you give me credit for. I'm not a pillar of strength, I'm not a fortress of solitude, I'm not a monolith of mystery. I am weak -- every bit as weak as anyone else, every bit as flawed, every bit as dirty. I stain the memory of what I once strived to achieve with my filthy hands, recently pulled from the fresh, yawning wounds that riddle the surface of my pride. I can't give you a reason to go on. I can't give you a reason to not go on. I can't give you advice, I can't fix your problems, I can't supplant your existence with my worldly wisdom.

I don't have all the answers. I never pretended to. I don't have a solution to every problem, I don't have the reason for every unexplained thing. I am just as mystified by the seven wonders of the world as anyone else. I don't know everything -- far from it, I don't even know a thousandth of everything -- and I never will. A collection of useless tidbits of information does not a respectable intellect make. I can't tell you with certainty that which I do not know.

I am not a fount of endless stamina. I have a breaking point. I will always do everything I can, but my capacity is just as limited as the next person's. If I stretch myself too thin, I will snap. If I acquiesce to every demand, acknowledge every salutation, I will eventually not have anything left for myself. If I give a little of myself out to everyone who asks for it, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, eventually I will be whittled down to an empty shell of a man, one who has no sense of self and no way to objectify his individuality.

There are precious few people in this world to whom I voluntarily give any part of myself at all. I am not one of them.