Hello. I'm God. Take a number.
Some call it a moment of clarity: I do too.
'Cause I'm not a freak, I'm just different.
What the fuck does that even mean?
"Imagine all the people living life in peace."
I have this feeling tonight. Kind of like I'm changing. Or Evolving.
Like something's inside me, churning. Physically.
...I hope it's not the flu. Goddamn the flu.
Peter Griffin - Rock Lobster.
Best. Song. Ever.
I quickly descended the staircase, and reached out toward her. And as my glove touched hers, our eyes met not. However, we thought the same, and quickly removed them--so that we could sense one another in another light. An informal light. Our eyes then met, and I was ejected into another realm--one unfamiliar to mine eyes. We fled into the night shortly thereafter.
Matryona's Home (Alexander Solzhenitsyn):
She made no effort to get things round her. She didn't struggle and strain to buy things and then care for them more than life itself.
She didn't go all out after fine clothes. Clothes, that beautify what is ugly and evil.
She was misunderstood and abandoned even by her husband. She had lost six children, but not her sociable ways. She was a stranger to her sisters and sisters-in-law, a ridiculous creature who stupidly worked for others without pay. She didn't accumulate property against the day she died. A dirty-white goat, a gammy-legged cat, some rubber plants...
We had all lived side by side with her and had never understood that she was the righteous one without whom, as the proverb says, no village can stand.
Nor any city.
Nor our whole land. €