Every descent into ruin begins with forgetting who we are.

Love is timeless, as are its letters

Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?

For dust we are, and to dust we return.

Written by Richard Halliburton, read by Woolfinius Whürl

The way of the wise is a quiet strength, rooted in reverence, blooming in restraint.

The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.

A straight line may be the shortest distance between two points, but it is by no means the most interesting.