It's Lovely. I Hate It.

I Think Of Myself As A Storyteller, And That Is It.

Madness. I Did Not Get Myself Born To Die. I Have Better Things To Do.

Condemned And Executioner With Aren't Coupled In A Primitive Rite.

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.

If You Run Away From Trouble, It Always Follows.