I Do Not Know If All Cops

Good Fiction Is Made Of That Which Is Real, And Reality Is Difficult To Come By.

Everywhere I've Turned Somebody Has Wanted To Sacrifice Me For My Own Good—only /they/ Were The Ones Who Benefited. And Now We Start On The Old Sacrificial Merry-go-round. At What Point Do We Stop?

God Is Love, I Said, But Art's The Possibility Of Forms, And Shadows Are The Source Of Identity.

Had The Price Of Looking Been Blindness, I Would Have Looked.

Perhaps To Lose A Sense Of Where You Are Implies The Danger Of Losing A Sense Of Who You Are.