I Hear Seven Cities Natives

Survivors Do Not Mourn Together. They Each Mourn Alone, Even When In The Same Place. Grief Is The Most Solitary Of All Feelings. Grief Isolates, And Every Ritual, Every Gesture, Every Embrace, Is A Hopeless Effort To Break Through That Isolation. None Of It Works. The Forms Crumble And Dissolve. To Face Death Is To Stand Alone.

A Civilization Can Easily Drown In What It Knows As In What Doesn't Know. Consider,' He Continued, Gotho's Folly. Gotho's Curse Was In Being Too Aware - Of Everything. Every Permutation, Every Potential. Enough To Poison Every Scan He Cast On The World. It Availed Him Naught, And Worse, He Was Aware Of Even That.

More Than One Philosopher Has Claimed That We Ever Remain Children, Far Beneath The Indurated Layers That Make Up The Armour Of Adulthood. Armour Encumbers, Restricts The Body And Soul Within It. But It Also Protects. Blows Are Blunted. Feelings Lose Their Edge, Leaving Us To Suffer Naught But A Plague Of Bruises, And, After A Time, Bruises Fade.

Do Mortal Fools Still Measure The Increments Leading To Their Deaths, Wagering Pleasures Against Costs, Persisting In The Delusion That Deeds Have Value, That The World And All The Gods Sit In Judgment Over Every Decision Made Or Not Made?

You Must Dismantle Your Sources, Lest You Do Nothing But Ape The Prejudices Of Others