I Begin With The Principle That All

Irony Is A Disciplinarian Feared Only By Those Who Do Not Know It, But Cherished By Those Who Do

About As Genuine As Tea Made From A Bit Of Paper Which Once Lay In A Drawer Beside Another Piece Of Paper Which Had Been Used To Wrap Up A Few Tea Leaves From Which Tea Had Already Been Made Three Times.

Who Am I? How Did I Come Into The World? Why Was I Not Consulted?

This Age Will Die Not As A Result Of Some Evil, But From A Lack Of Passion.

The God That Can Be Named Is Not God.