We're All Just Facilitators. The Real Business

It Hurt, And That Is Not A Euphemism. It Hurt Like A Beating.

Talking To A Drunk Person Was Like Talking To An Extremely Happy, Severely Brain-damaged Three-year-old.

The Snow May Be Falling In The Winter Of My Discontent, But At Least I've Got Sarcastic Company.

There Will Come A Time, When All Of Us Are Dead. All Of Us. There Will Come A Time When There Are No Human Beings Remaining To Remember That Anyone Ever Existed Or That Our Species Ever Did Anything.

The Dead Are Visible Only In The Terrible Lidless Eye Of Memory.