To Survive, You Must Tell Stories.

And We, Inhabitants Of The Great Coral Of The Cosmos, Believe The Atom (which Still We Cannot See) To Be Full Matter, Whereas, It Too, Like Everything Else, Is But An Embroidery Of Voids In The Void, And We Give The Name Of Being, Dense And Even Eternal, To That Dance Of Inconsistencies, That Infinite Extension That Is Identified With Absolute Nothingness And That Spins From Its Own Non-being The Illusion Of Everything.

We Were Clever Enough To Turn A Laundry List Into Poetry.

This, In Fact, Is The Power Of The Imagination, Which, Combining The Memory Of Gold With That Of The Mountain, Can Compose The Idea Of A Golden Mountain.

The Only Truth Lies In Learning To Free Ourselves From Insane Passion For The Truth.

An Idea You Have Might Not Be Original. But By Creating A Novel Out Of That Idea You Can Make It Original.