I Believe In No Final Solutions.

I Believe In No Final Solutions.

Man Does Not Create Gods, In Spite Of Appearances. The Times, The Age, Impose Them On Him. Man Can Serve His Age Or Rebel Against It, But The Target Of His Cooperation Or Rebellion Comes To Him From Outside.

Cannibals Prefer Those Who Have No Spines.

Come, Every Frustum Longs To Be A Cone, And Every Vector Dreams Of Matrices. Hark To The Gentle Gradient Of The Breeze: It Whispers Of A More Ergodic Zone.

How Do You Expect To Communicate With The Ocean, When You Can’t Even Understand One Another?