Staring Into The Dragon's Maw,

In Our Memories, There Is A Graveyard Where We Bury Our Dead. They All Lie There Together, The Loved Ones And The Ones We Hated, Friends And Foes And Kin, With No Distinction Among Them. We Have To Mourn Every One Of Them, Because Our Memories Have Made Them As Much A Part Of Us As Our Bones Or Our Skin. If We Don't, We've No Right To Remember Anything At All.

Staring Into The Dragon's Maw, One Quickly Learns Wisdom.

There Was A Sergeant At A Desk. I Knew He Was A Sergeant Because I Recognized The Marks On His Uniform, And I Knew It Was A Desk Because It's Always A Desk. There's Always Someone At A Desk, Except When It's A Table That Functions As A Desk. You Sit Behind A Desk, And Everyone Knows You're Supposed To Be There, And That You're Doing Something That Involves Your Brain. It's An Odd, Special Kind Of Importance. I Think Everyone Should Get A Desk; You Can Sit Behind It When You Feel Like You Don't Matter.

Why Do You Work So Hard To Make Yourself Disliked? I Should Think You'd Find It Happens Enough On Its Own Without Putting Yourself To Any Extra Trouble.

I'd Rather Be Running The Game Than Playing It.