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.

My lungs taste the air of Time,Blown past falling sands.

Atrocity never balances or rectifies the past. Atrocity merely arms the future for more atrocity.

When we try to conceal our innermost drives, the entire being screams betrayal.

Intelligence takes chances with limited data in an arena where mistakes are not only possible but also necessary.

Often I must speak otherwise than I think. This is called diplomacy.

The person who takes the banal and ordinary and illuminates it in a new way can terrify. We do not want our ideas changed.