People complain about the bad things that happen to em that they don't deserve but they seldom mention the good. About what they done to deserve them things.

Men's memories are uncertain and the past that was differs little from the past that was not.

Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland.

The truth may often be carried about by those who themselves remain all unaware of it. They bear that which has weight and substance and yet for them has no name whereby it may be evoked or called forth. They go about ignorant of the true nature of their condition, such are the wiles of truth and such its stratagems.

Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.

I was afraid I was goin to die and then I was afraid I wasnt.

I will do what I promised." He whispered. "No matter what. I will not send you into the darkness alone.