The Tiger Is Humbled By Memories Of

The Art Of Illusion Is Grace Itself.

We Are All Lone Souls. It Pays To Know Humility, Lest The Delusion Of Control, Of Mastery, Overwhelms. And, Indeed, We Seem A Species Prone To That Delusion, Again And Ever Again." ~fiddler, Pg. 558

I Was Needed, But I Myself Did Not Need. I Had Followers, But Not Allies, And Only Now Do I Understand The Difference. And It Is Vast.

The Notion Of Evil For Its Own Sake Strikes Me As Boring -- All These Dark Lords Intent On Creating Wastelands Packed With Enslaved Victims... For What?

More Than One Philosopher Has Claimed That We Ever Remain Children, Far Beneath The Indurated Layers That Make Up The Armour Of Adulthood. Armour Encumbers, Restricts The Body And Soul Within It. But It Also Protects. Blows Are Blunted. Feelings Lose Their Edge, Leaving Us To Suffer Naught But A Plague Of Bruises, And, After A Time, Bruises Fade.