Happiness Is Not an Ideal of Reason but of Imagination

The Flame Is Not so Bright to Itself as to Those on Whom It Shines

I Recognize the Signals of the Ancient Flame

What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

The Night That Hides Things from Us

Chanting Faint Hymns to the Cold Fruitless Moon

The Future Is Already Here, It Is Just Unevenly Distributed

All Things Proceed by a Certain Eternal Necessity of Nature

What Has Always Made the State a Hell on Earth Has Been That Man Has Tried to Make It Heaven

Something Lives Only as Long as the Last Person Who Remembers It