Brand New Ancients

Clive was close to her, one hand on her shoulder, the other opening his flies, she felt the fury rise, stared straight into his eyes; he couldn’t meet her gaze but she wouldn’t look away.

I am speaking of those who cannot tolerate the loss of myth and who can neither find a way to a merely exterior world, to the world as seen by science, nor rest satisfied with an intellectual juggling with words, which has nothing whatsoever to do with wisdom.

But his supermen abandoned him, the shock of it anchored him, he couldn’t move a muscle – he felt like he was dreaming, found himself weeping to the sounds of her shrieking but unable to move he was stood there, invisible and useless as Glory burned brighter than any one of Zeus’s daughters, the fight in her eyes was inspiring. He saw her, the quie

The Gods are all here. Because the gods are in us.

We are ancient, brand new, basic and far beyond making ourselves into nothing; we need to recognize we’re something, and that we can be the gods we were born to be through loving.

You were born for greatness; believe it. Know it. Take it from the tears of the poets.

But the plight of a people who have forgotten their myths and imagine that somehow now is all that there is is a sorry plight, all isolation and worry – but the life in your veins it is godly, heroic.

She sees him walk in, all self-assured self-hatred and she thinks to herself that he’s got one of them faces that makes you want to take it in your palms and stare at it she looks away quickly, she don’t say nothing. He turns from the bar, notices her hands around her glass, struck dumb by the grace of them, and desperate to say something. He wakes

Millions of characters, each with their own epic narratives singing it’s hard to be an angel until you’ve been a demon.