Thy goal, the road thou choosest are thy fate.
Transform reason into ordered intuition; let all thyself be light. This is thy goal.
One may come armoured, Invinsible. His will immobile meets the mobile hour. The world blows cannot bend this Victor Head. Calm and sure are his steps in the growing night. The goal recedes, he hurries not his pace. He asks from no help from the inferior Gods. His eyes are fixed on the immutable aim.
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