Neither. I Am Just One Who Has

I Put My Hand Out And Wiped The Vomit From His Lips, And Cooed Soothing Words To Him. It Squeezed My Heart To See Him Suffer Like This - But Where My Genuine Concern For Him Ended And Where My Self-interest Began, I Could Not Tell: No Servant Can Ever Tell What The Motives Of His Heart Are. "do We Loathe Our Masters Behind A Facade Of Love - Or Do We Love Them Behind A Facade Of Loathing? "we Are Made Mysteries To Ourselves By The Rooster Coop We Are Locked In.

A White Tiger Keeps No Friends. It's Too Dangerous.

Never Before In Human History Have So Few Owed So Much To So Many, Mr. Jiabao. A Handful Of Men In This Country Have Trained The Remaining 99.9 Percent—as Strong, As Talented, As Inteligent In Every Way—to Exist In Perpetual Servitude; A Servitude So Strong That You Can Put The Key Of His Emancipation In A Man's Hands And He Will Throw It Back At You With A Curse.

A Rich Man's Body Is Like A Premium Cotton Pillow, White And Soft And Blank. ''ours'' Is Different. My Father's Spine Was A Knotted Rope, The Kind That Women Use In Villages To Pull Water From Wells; The Clavicle Curved Around His Neck In High Relief, Like A Dog's Collar; Cuts And Nicks And Scars, Like Little Whip Marks In His Flesh, Ran Down His Chest And Waist, Reaching Down Below His Hip Bones Into His Buttocks. The Story Of A Poor Man's Life Is Written On His Body, In A Sharp Pen.

I Am Coming Back To New York After Five Years, And It Seems That Psychics Are Taking Over The City.