Words Were All He Knew; They Possessed

As It Somehow Always Manages Before The Winter Solstice, But Never After, The Early Darkness Was Cheerful And Promising, Even For Those Who Had Nothing.

Winter Then In Its Early And Clear Stages, Was A Purifying Engine That Ran Unhindered Over City And Country, Alerting The Stars To Sparkle Violently And Shower Their Silver Light Into The Arms Of Bare Upreaching Trees. It Was A Mad And Beautiful Thing That Scoured Raw The Souls Of Animals And Man, Driving Them Before It Until They Loved To Run. And What It Did To Northern Forests Can Hardly Be Described, Considering That It Iced The Branches Of The Sycamores On Chrystie Street And Swept Them Back And Forth Until They Rang Like Ranks Of Bells.

If Nothing Is Random, And Everything Is Predetermined, How Can There Be Free Will? The Answer To That Is Simple. Nothing Is Predetermined; It Is Determined, Or Was Determined, Or Will Be Determined.

Particularly As A Jew, I Don't Like Missionary Work. I've Had It Focused On Me, And I Don't Like It. Let People Be What They Want To Be.

There Is Justice In The World, Peter Lake, But It Cannot Be Had Without Mystery.