Words are what you fight with but what you fight about is whether or not you’re afraid of them.
There is no God but the one we dream up.
There no such thing as something! Why? Because everything's already turning into something else!
There's got to be a nasty or dangerous side to anything enjoyable or there's something wrong, something suspicious and hidden. If everything seems perfect, it means you're one of the Eloi and a Morloc...
There's no future in stories...Stories are things of the past, things for museums.
There’s a link between bigotry and bad spelling. I’ve met it before.
Time needs time to be measurable.
There’s lying, says Mum, fishing out the envelope she wrote the directions on from her handbag, which is wrong, and there’s creating the right impression, which is necessary.
There’s something fishy about Google’s motto, Don’t Be Evil. I’m not saying it’s controversial but it makes you think, Why bring that up? Why have you suddenly put the subject of being evil on the age...
These jokes the world plays, they're not funny at all.
These people, I’m afraid, include those who suffer from ‘wheat intolerance’. I know there is such a thing, which can afflict even the sturdiest, most no-nonsense of souls and causes the consumption of...
These...xistential qualms you suffer, they just mean you're truly human. I aked how I might remedy them. You don´t remedy them. You live thru them.
These...xistential qualms you suffer, they just mean you're truly human.
They need shinier myths that will never be soiled by becoming true.
Whoever dies with the most stuff wins.
Women, oh, women! They'll find the baddest meanin' in your words an' hold it up, sayin', Look what you attacked me with!
This druid feeling I get in the woods’s so thrilling it makes me want to crap, so I dug a hole with a flat stone inside a clump of mitten-leafed shrubs. I pulled down my cacks and squatted. It’s ace s...
This is my moral. Trust what you dream. Not what you think.
This is why the elite need a prophylactic barrier of shitty state schools, to prevent clever kids from working-class post codes ousting them from the Enclave of Privilege
This morn I awoke to the laments of fallen angels.
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