But Sometimes Imperfect Tools Lead Us Toward

There Is A Fountain Filled With Blood Drawn From Immanuel's Veins. And Those Plunged Beneath That Watery Grave To Drink Of His Blood Will Never Be The Same.

The Light Shines In The Darkness, But The Darkness Cannot Understand It

The Pain Was So Deep And So Raw. There Were Days I Would Have Died Just To Forget. The Problem Was, I Couldn't Figure Out How To Get Her Out Of My Mind. How Do You Kill That Kind Of Pain?

I Sell Ideas. Actually, If You Think About It, Everything Is Really No More Than Idea. The Past Is Nothing More Than A Memory, Which Is One Kind Of Idea. The Future Is Still A Hope, Another Kind Of Idea. The Present Is Fleeting And Becomes A Memory Before You Can Put Your Hands On It. All Ideas. I Sell Ideas.

But Sometimes Imperfect Tools Lead Us Toward Perfect Ends.