It Is A Wise Man

Ask What Infinity Might Produce And The Only Answer Possible Was, "anything." Any Good, Any Evil; Any God, Any Devil.

But It's Well Known That Repression Makes A Religion Flourish.

Any Road Followed Precisely To Its End Leads Precisely Nowhere.

There's Hope Left In These Dusty Chords. There's A Song Left In Our Rusty Hearts. We Are Torn And Frayed But Love Remains.

Jessica Stopped Beside Him, Said: 'what Delicious Abandon In The Sleep Of A Child.' He Spoke Mechanically: 'if Only Adults Could Relax Like That.' 'yes.' 'where Do We Lose It?' He Murmured. 'we Do, Indeed, Lose Something,' She Said.