The Ultimate, Most Holy Form Of Theory

Time Is Round, And It Rolls Quickly.

I Say One Thing, You Write Another, And Those Who Read You Understand Still Something Else! I Say: Cross, Death, Kingdom Of Heaven, God...and What Do You Understand? Each Of You Attaches His Own Suffering, Interests And Desires To Each Of These Sacred Words, And My Words Disappear, My Soul Is Lost. I Can't Stand It Any Longer!

God Changes His Appearance Every Second. Blessed Is The Man Who Can Recognize Him In All His Disguises.

Fools, Art Is A Heavy Task, More Heavy Than Gold Crowns; It's Far More Difficult To Match Firm Words Than Armies, They're Disciplined Troops, Unconquered, To Be Placed In Rhythm, The Mind's Most Mighty Foe, And Not Disperse In Air. I'd Give, Believe Me, A Whole Land For One Good Song, For I Know Well That Only Words, That Words Alone, Like The High Mountains, Have No Fear Of Age Or Death.

I Felt This Was My Duty, My Sole Duty: To Reconcile The Irreconcilables, To Draw The Thick Ancestral Darkness Out Of My Loins And Transform It, To The Best Of My Ability, Into Light.