It is always consoling to think of suicide: in that way one gets through many a bad night.
Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better, even of their blunders.
Wit is the epitaph of emotion.
Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man.
He bugs the crap out of me an we dissagree on many, many things,
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