The thoughts of all men arise from the darkness. If you are the movement of your soul, and the cause of that movement precedes you, then how could you ever call your thoughts your own? How could you be anything other than a slave to the darkness that comes before?

Love is lust made meaningful. Hope is hunger made human.

Consequences lost all purchase when they became mad. And desperation, when pressed beyond anguish, became narcotic.

This is the problem of all great revelations: their significance so often exceeds the frame of our comprehension. We understand only after, always after. Not simply when it is too late, but precisely because it is too late.

Doubt begets understanding, and understanding begets compassion. Verily, it is conviction that kills.

Here we find further argument for Gotagga’s supposition that the world is round. How else could all men stand higher than their brothers?

History. Language. Passion. Custom. All these things determine what men say, think, and do. These are the hidden puppet-strings from which all men hang.