No Amount Of Violence You've Done To

Nicotine And Alcohol Embraced In My System Like Long-parted Siblings, Grateful To Me For Reuniting Them.

You Can't Blame Me. I Mean That Literally. You're Incapable Of Blaming Me. You're Human. Being Human Is Choosing Freedom Over Imprisonment, Autonomy Over Dependency, Liberty Over Servitude. You Can't Blame Me Because You Know (come On, Man, You've Always Known) That The Idea Of Spending Eternity With Nothing To Do Except Praise God Is Utterly Unappealing. You'd Be Catatonic After An Hour. Heaven's A Swiz Because To Get In You Have To Leave Yourself Outside. You Can't Blame Me Because -- Now Do Please Be Honest With Yourself For Once -- You'd Have Left, Too.

My Parents Believe In The Happy Endings To The Stories Of Their Children.

For You, My Darlings, Freedom To Do What You Like Is The Discovery Of How Unlikable What You Like To Do Makes You. Not That That Stops You Doing What You Like, Since You Like Doing What You Like More Than You Like Liking What You Do... [lucifer]

This Is Love: You Stop Bothering About The Universal, The General, Get Sucked Instead Into The Local And Particular: When Will I See Her Again? What Shall We Do Today? Do You Like These Shoes? Theory And Reflection Are Delicate Old Uncles Bustled Out Of The Way By The Boisterous Nephews Action And Desire. Themes Evaporate, Only Plot Remains.