One Day, Perhaps, You Will

For We Are All Bound In Stories, And As The Years Pile Up They Turn To Stone, Layer Upon Layer, Building Our Lives.

What Matter The Colour Of The Collar Around A Man's Neck, If The Chains Linked To Them Were Identical?

The Art Of Illusion Is Grace Itself.

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.

You Always Fashioned Yourself As The Empire's Harshest Fist, Didn't You, Korbolo Dom? As If Cruelty's A Virtue.