When You Stop Inventing Reality Then You

The Law Is Simple. Every Experience Is Repeated Or Suffered Till You Experience It Properly And Fully The First Time.

Who Knows, Maybe This Whole Planet Is An Asylum, A Penal Realm. A Place For Hard Cases.

The Earliest Storytellers Were Magi, Seers, Bards, Griots, Shamans. They Were, It Would Seem, Old As Time, And As Terrifying To Gaze Upon As The Mysteries With Which They Wrestled .. (they) Helped The Community Live Though One More Darkness, With Eyes Wide Open, And With Hearts Set Alight.

There Is A Kind Of Expressed Love Which Is Easy To Subvert. When A Figure Is Loved For Their Deeds, Their Conquests, Their Heroism, Their Goodness, Their Love Of The People, These Are Easy Enough To Destroy... But There Is A Kind Of Love Which Is Felt For Apparently No Reason... A Love, Inspired, It Seems, By The Gods, Which It Is Impossible To Fight, Distort, Destroy, Or Weaken. In Fact, The Attempts To Destroy Such Loves Only Strengthen Them. And To Do Nothing Allows Them To Continue To Grow At Their Natural Pace, Inexoribly, Till This Love Becomes A Wide And Silent Adoration.

Reading, Like Writing, Is A Creative Act. If Readers Only Bring A Narrow Range Of Themselves To The Book, Then They'll Only See Their Narrow Range Reflected In It.