Bored and insecure men will loose arrows at dust motes. - Fritz Leiber

Food for the hungry Isle. There was your real thinking man’s treasure, he told himself, beside which gold and twinkling jewels were merest trinkets, or the pointy breasts of young love or words of poets or the pointed stars themselves that astrologers cherished and that made men drunk with distance and expanse.

When one achieves revenge, the innocent perforce suffer.

Work and pray,
Live on hay.
You’ll get pie
In the sky
When you die—
It’s a lie!