Ther is no tool that is not also a weapon; and no human that would wield it as one.

I've been wondering, what made our ancestors settle in these godforsaken places? It can't have been easy with those frail, squishy bodies of theirs.
What makes a caveman go yes, this frozen hellscape is where I want to live out my days?

Identity has no meaning without society, and society has no meaning without the individual.

There's no human building that can survive without maintenance. Roots are stronger than concrete.

God appears, and God is light,
to those poor souls who well in night,
but does a human form display,
to those who dwell in realms of day.