The Problem Is Not Those Who Dream,

A Story Is An End In Itself. It Is Not Written To Teach, Sell, Explain Or Destroy Anything. It Is Not Written Even To Entertain. It Is Written As A Man Is Born - An Organic Whole, Dictated Only By Its Own Laws And Its Own Necessity - An End In Itself, Not A Means To An End.

To Rest One's Case On Faith Means To Concede That Reason Is On The Side Of One's Enemies- That One Has No Rational Arguments To Offer.

A Mystic Is A Man Who Treats His Feelings As Tools Of Cognition.

If You Saw Atlas, The Giant Who Holds The World On His Shoulders, If You Saw That He Stood, Blood Running Down His Chest, His Knees Buckling, His Arms Trembling But Still Trying To Hold The World Aloft With The Last Of His Strength, And The Greater His Effort The Heavier The World Bore Down Upon His Shoulders - What Would You Tell Him?" I…don't Know. What…could He Do? What Would You Tell Him?" To Shrug.

The Only Thing That Matters My Goal My Reward My Beginning My End Is The Work Itself. My Work Done My Way. A Private Personal Selfish Egotistical Motivation. That’s The Only Way I Function. That’s All I Am.