Art Is A Selective Re-creation Of Reality

The Word 'we' Is As Lime Poured Over Men, Which Sets And Hardens To Stone, And Crushes All Beneath It, And That Which Is White And That Which Is Black Are Lost Equally In The Grey Of It. It Is The Word By Which The Depraved Steal The Virtue Of The Good, By Which The Weak Steal The Might Of The Strong, By Which The Fools Steal The Wisdom Of The Sages.

Joy Is The Goal Of Existence, And Joy Is Not To Be Stumbled Upon, But To Be Achieved, And The Act Of Treason Is To Let Its Vision Drown In The Swamp Of The Moment's Torture.

The Truly And Deliberately Evil Men Are A Very Small Minority; It Is The Appeaser Who Unleashes Them On Mankind.

Morality Is A Code Of Black And White. When And If Men Attempt A Compromise, It Is Obvious Which Side Will Necessarily Lose And Which Will Necessarily Profit.

We Are One...alone...and Only...and We Love You Who Are One...alone...and Only. We Looked Into Each Other's Eyes And We Knew The Breath Of A Miracle Had Touched Us, And Fled, And Left Us Groping Vainly. And We Felt Torn, Torn For Some Word We Could Not Find.