He Who Sees A Need And Waits

The More Perfect A Thing Is, The More Susceptible To Good And Bad Treatment It Is.

Not One Drop Of Blood Is Left Inside My Veins That Does Not Throb: I Recognize Signs Of The Ancient Flame.

Midway Upon The Journey Of Our Life

O How Far Remov'd, Predestination! Is Thy Foot From Such As See Not The First Cause Entire: And Ye, O Mortal Men! Be Wary How Ye Judge: For We, Who See The Maker, Know Not Yet The Number Of The Chosen; And Esteem Such Scantiness Of Knowledge Our Delight: For All Good Is, In That Primal Good, Concentrate; And God's Will And Ours Are One.

The Only Fit Reply To A Fit Request Is Silence And The Fact.