When I was a child, the Light promised that the pages would come to my hand on the night you should appear. He looked at me strangely. But they were given to you . . . His eyes twinkled. And in spite of my study, I have learned.
Every grand religion begins in light.
Yet only hearts hold light. But you have in your hand . . . You must read it. But before we give them we must name them. And that will be their death.