When Some French Were Assembling An Encyclopedia

We Dream, We Wake On A Cold Hillside, We Pursue The Dream Again. In The Beginning Was The Dream, And The Work Of Disenchantment Never Ends.

History Is A Wave That Moves Through Time Slightly Faster Than We Do.

Look At The Pattern This Seashell Makes. The Dappled Whorl, Curving Inward To Infinity. That's The Shape Of The Universe Itself. There's Constant Pressure, Pushing Towards Pattern. A Tendency In Matter To Evolve Into Ever More Complex Forms. It's A Kind Of Pattern Gravity, A Holy Greening Power We Call 'viriditas' And It Is The Driving Force In The Cosmos. Life, You See.

The Sky Itself Is The Eighth Color Of The Rainbow, Spread Over The Whole Sky For Us, All The Time.

We All Have Secret Lives. The Life Of Excretion; The World Of Inappropriate Sexual Fantasies; Our Real Hopes, Our Terror Of Death; Our Experience Of Shame; The World Of Pain; And Our Dreams. No One Else Knows These Lives. Consciousness Is Solitary. Each Person Lives In That Bubble Universe That Rests Under The Skull, Alone.