The Only Certainty Is Death.

We Are Accustomed To Use Our Eyes Only With The Memory Of What Other People Before Us Have Thought About The Object We Are Looking At.

History, That Excitable And Unreliable Old Lady.

Words Dazzle And Deceive Because They Are Mimed By The Face. But Black Words On A White Page Are The Soul Laid Bare.

The Past Attracts Me, The Present Frightens Me, Because The Future Is Death.

She Was The Temptress Who Had Ensnared The First Man, And Who Still Continued Her Work At Damnation; She Was The Being Who Is Feeble, Dangerous, Mysteriously Troubling. And Even More Than Her Body Of Perdition, He Hated Her Loving Soul.