18 November 2014

Three Hundred and Ninety-One

391


So much vanity over the biological artifice surrounding an alimentary canal.

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What an astounding thing the play of language, and all that it has created, preserved, destroyed.

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What is all religion founded upon but fear of what is, and craving for more of it.

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Any parasite can feed on its host only for as long as the host endures.

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A darkness, the depths of which few mortals care to linger.

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Are you doing nothing, or is nothing doing you?

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All seeds are but temporal time machines.

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Another crock of poop uncorked.

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Nobody’s discovery

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Every bird its own song.

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A god born of imagination is not god.

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Spending your fortune one breath, one step at a time.

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What is unknowable is unknowable, no matter how adroit the speculation.

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Children are not the only ones who must someday, somehow, put away their childish things.

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Philosophers wrangle with a universe absolutely indifferent to their struggle.