I Know Nothing Of God Or The

It Seems An Insult To The Night To Speak Of Purpose And Intent, When This Common Moment Is So Brimming Full Of Blessed Design Tranquility. All Things Follow Their Course.

This Suffering, This Unspeakable Capacity To Bleed And To Know Pain And To Know Annihilation, Is What Has To Be Overcome In This World If Anyone Is To Reach God.

The World Doesn't Need Any More Mediocrity Or Hedged Bets.

When We Talk About Our Lives, Long Or Short, Brief And Tragic Or Enduring Beyond Comprehension, We Impose A Continuity On Them, And That Continuity Is A Lie.

I Think To Feel This Happy Is To Be Miserable, To Feel This Much Satisfaction Is To Burn.