Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.

You have my whole heart. You always did.

War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.

You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it. Everything you do closes a door somewhere ahead of you. And finally there is only one door left.

Not all dying words are true and this blessing is no less real for being shorn of its ground.

Life is brief and to have to spend every day of it doing what somebody else wants you to do is not the way to live it.

If God meant to interfere in the degeneracy of mankind would he not have done so by now? Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creatures could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet?