He Who Has Not Looked On Sorrow

Verily The Lust For Comfort Murders The Passion Of The Soul, And Then Walks Grinning In The Funeral.

Love... It Surrounds Every Being And Extends Slowly To Embrace All That Shall Be.

Make Me, Oh God, The Prey Of The Lion, Ere You Make The Rabbit My Prey

Your Life Is An Island Separated From All Other Islands And Continents. Regardless Of How Many Boats You Send To Other Shores Or How Many Ships Arrive Upon Your Shores, You Yourself Are An Island Separated By Its Own Pains, Secluded In Its Happiness

And What Word Is Knowledge But A Shadow Of Wordless Knowledge?