In Our Plain Defects We Already Know

There May Always Be Another Reality To Make Fiction Of The Truth We Think We've Arrived At.

The Dark Is Light Enough.

Indulgences, Not Fulfillment, Is What The World Permits Us.

How Nature Loves The Incomplete. She Knows If She Drew A Conclusion It Would Finish Her.

Who Apart From Ourselves, Can See Any Difference Between Our Victories And Our Defeats?