I Have Nothing To Say For Myself,

Well. That's Helpful. We'll Put An Apb Out On The Gingerbread Man. I'm Not Hopeful It'll Do Us Much Good, Though. Word On The Street Is You Can't Catch Him.

Don't Mourn, Organise

If You Didn't Have Me To Rake You Over The Coals Now And Then, There Wouldn't Be Any Fire In Your Life At All.

I See God Now As An Unimaginative Writer Of Popular Fictions, Someone Who Builds Stories Around Sadistic And Graceless Plots, Narratives That Exist Only To Express His Terror Of A Woman's Power To Choose Who And How To Love, To Redefine Love As She Sees Fit, Not As God Thinks It Ought To Be. The Author Is Unworthy Of His Own Characters.

The Soul Is An Irrational, Indivisible Equation That Perfectly Expresses One Thing: You. The Soul Would Be No Good To The Devil If It Could Be Destroyed. And It Is Not Lost When Placed In Satan's Care, As Is So Often Said. He Always Know Exactly How To Put His Finger On It.