Grief Is The Price Of Victory.

A Storm Is Coming; Our Storm. Emperor - We Come For You!

Producing Perfection From Imperfection Is, After All, The Highest Of Art Forms.

Time Is A Measure Of Space, Just As A Range-finder Is A Measure Of Space, But Measuring Locks Us Into The Place We Measure.

Only Gods Can Safely Risk Perfection ... It's A Dangerous Thing For A Man.

The Flesh Surrenders Itself. Eternity Takes Back Its Own. Our Bodies Stirred These Waters Briefly, Danced With A Certain Intoxication Before The Love Of Life And Self, Dealt With A Few Strange Ideas, Then Submitted To The Instruments Of Time. What Can We Say Of This? I Occurred. I Am Not...yet, I Occurred.