Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Cryst, if my love were in my armes
And I in my bedde again!
Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Cryst, if my love were in my armes
And I in my bedde again!
Evil isn't an army that besieges a city from outside the walls. It is a native of the city. It…
...scientific theory is a contrived foothold in the chaos of living phenomena.
Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.