Warm. Damp. Musty. Master Jedi am I, crave not the fading comforts of the
flesh - conditioned air, soft bed. Need I not the company of peers, for
nine hundred years have I lived and watched the lives of friends escape.
Empty shells, they leave behind - and broken promises. Pretend that I do
not feel or care, I will not. Long have I lived in this rotting galaxy,
understand, I do, the ways of the force. Darkness rises, falls, becomes
shrouded in light, returns again. Little hope remains for the galaxy. No
longer is it my role to win for the Republic its battles. I seek immersion
into the force; my life begins to fade. I have felt it in the swaying
trees, the subtle whispers on the breeze. Live to see the empire fall, I
will not. Understand, do I, the fallacy of my previous position, surrounded
by subservient knights, arrogant Jedi Masters. All that exists does so
within the force - all events its will. Remorse, grief, sadness, I will not
feel. Strong am I in the force, enough to perform the impossible. Enough to
will my desires to fruition. I desire peace - at this moment, the force may
not; battle the rising tide, I will not. The weight of the galaxy rests on
one boy's shoulders, the son of Skywalker, to complete the task in which
his father failed, he will try. Watched have I, long enough. He returns to
fulfill his promise - I sense his presence drawing near. Survive, I must,
the moments until he arrives. A Jedi, I may be, but wish to die alone, I do
not.
Yoda
Yoda