You Were Destroyed By What You Befriended.

People Were Interesting At First. Then Later, Slowly But Surely, All The Flaws And Madness Would Manifest Themselves. I Would Become Less And Less To Them; They Would Mean Less And Less To Me.

My Mother, Poor Fish, Wanting To Be Happy, Beaten Two Or Three Times A Week, Telling Me To Be Happy: "henry, Smile! Why Don't You Ever Smile?" And Then She Would Smile, To Show Me How, And It Was The Saddest Smile I Ever Saw

Never Trust A Man In A Jumpsuit

That's The Way It Ends. The Thin Edge Of The Wedge.

Bullfighting Can Be An Art Boxing Can Be An Art Loving Can Be An Art Opening A Can Of Sardines Can Be An Art