Never Believe Your Eyes

Leavening The Flat Bread Of What We Know, With The Yeast Of What We Dream May Come To Pass.

But I Think Humans Are Innately Religious As A Species, So You Don't Need A Specific Excuse For Examining The Perversely Unholy.

Mischief Nodded. 'it's True,' He Conceded. 'you're In The Company Of Eight World-class Thieves,' He Said, Not Without A Little Touch Of Pride. 'saints We Are Not.' But Then,' Said Deaux-deaux, 'who Is?' He Thought On This. 'besides Saints.

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

Sooner Or Later Even The Most Ambitious Glutton Must Crawl Away And Seek The Solace Of The Vomitorium.