I Tell You, Commander, It's True That

Witches Aren’t Like That. We Live In Harmony With The Great Cycles Of Nature, And Do No Harm To Anyone, And It’s Wicked Of Them To Say We Don’t. We Ought To Fill Their Bones With Hot Lead.

They Suffered From The Terrible Delusion That Something Could Be Done. They Seemed Prepared To Make The World The Way They Wanted It Or Die In The Attempt, And The Trouble With Dying In The Attempt Was That You Died In The Attempt.

All Things That Are, Are Ours. But We Must Care. For If We Do Not Care, We Do Not Exist. If We Do Not Exist, Then There Is Nothing But Blind Oblivion. And Even Oblivion Must End Someday. Lord, Will You Grant Me Just A Little Time? For The Proper Balance Of Things. To Return What Was Given. For The Sake Of Prisoners And The Flight Of Birds. Death Took A Step Backwards. It Was Impossible To Read Expression In Azrael's Features. Death Glanced Sideways At The Servants. Lord, What Can The Harvest Hope For, If Not For The Care Of The Reaper Man?

People Are Bound To Get Excited When They See A Ten-million-ton Starship Trying To Fly Down The Street.

I Have, Before Now, Waited For A Pen To Perform A Macro.