God Became Man, Granted. The Devil Became

There Are Souls Which, Crab-like, Crawl Continually Toward Darkness, Going Back In Life Rather Than Advancing In It, Using What Experience They Have To Increase Their Deformity, Growing Worse Without Ceasing, And Becoming Steeped More And More Thoroughly In An Intensifying Wickedness.

All Who Suffer Are Full Of Hatred; All Who Live Drag A Remorse: The Dead Alone Have Broken Their Chains.

She Might Have Melted A Heart Of Stone, But Nothing Can Melt A Heart Of Wood.

Those Who Live Are Those Who Fight.

Oh Lord! Open The Doors Of Night For Me So That I May Leave This Place And Disappear.