“And that must end us, that must be our cure:
To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night
Devoid of sense and motion?”
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This place is where we store all the magic stuff.
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One Fish
Two Fish
Dead Fish
Blue Fish
… Having studied the Inn, and testing its properties, only one conclusion can be reached. God has a blind spot, and we have found where it is.
| In this | house |
|---|---|
| we all | flip |
| tables |