When one has once accepted and absorbed Evil, it no longer demands to be believed.
Even the merest gesture is holy if it is filled with faith.
I am on the hunt for constructions. I come into a room and find them whitely merging in a corner.
Hiding places there are innumerable, escape is only one, but possibilities of escape, again, are as many as hiding places.
In a way, I was safe writing
The thornbush is the old obstacle in the road. It must catch fire if you want to go further.