Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
The end is the beginning of all things, Suppressed and hidden, Awaiting to be released through the rhythm Of pain and pleasure.
In my beginning is my end.
there's a widower in every placethere's a heart that's beatin' in every pagethe beginning of it starts at the endwell it's time to walk away and start over again
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
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.
In my end is my beginning: that's what people are always saying. But what does it mean?