The Truth Is A Fog, In Which

The Sun Rose Slowly, As If It Wasn't Sure It Was Worth All The Effort.

In The Ramtops Village Where They Dance The Real Morris Dance, For Example, They Believe That No-one Is Finally Dead Until The Ripples They Cause In The World Die Away - Until The Clock He Wound Up Winds Down, Until The Wine She Made Has Finished Its Ferment, Until The Crop They Planted Is Harvested. The Span Of Someone's Life, They Say, Is Only The Core Of Their Actual Existence.

Nothing Has To Be True Forever. Just For Long Enough, To Tell You The Truth.

The Presence Of Those Seeking The Truth Is Infinitely To Be Preferred To The Presence Of Those Who Think They've Found It.

The Mountains Of Madness Have Many Little Plateau Of Sanity.