This dawning Epoch, this age of reason. An empire grown fat, ripe for the bleeding.

Fear is what keeps us all in our places, and the fear of the flesh, the ruin of the flesh is the greatest of them all.

I am sickened, I am ruined, but I will build such machines to contain this plague and heal us all.

Hands are bleeding, raw. I scrub and scrub but the smell will not lift. How can I hold my children with these hands now? How can I kiss them goodnight with lips that have issued such instruction?

I held your hand and watched the blood pool between your legs. You lived long enough to see Edwin, but not Enoch. I will take care of them my love, I promise you this.

He who makes a beast of himself removes himself from the pain of being human.