My Lungs Taste The Air Of Time,blown

Truth Suffers From Too Much Analysis.

Religions Often Partake Of The Myth Of Progress That Shields Us From The Terrors Of An Uncertain Future.

Any Road Followed Precisely To Its End Leads Precisely Nowhere. Climb The Mountain Just A Little Bit To Test It's A Mountain. From The Top Of The Mountain, You Cannot See The Mountain.

She Looked At Patches Of Blackness. Black Is A Blind Remembering, She Thought.

The Dice Cannot Read Their Own Spots.