Parsifal achieves the Grail and the burden of perfection is too much for him to bear. He disappears in a puff of magnesium smoke. And the poor love was still a virgin. What kind of a life is that?
Perfection is stasis, is death. Nothing that exists in time can be perfect. There will always be something more that can be added to it.
Perfection is stasis, is death. Nothing that exists in time can be perfect. There will always be something more that can be added to it.