Rectory always sounded to me like a place where you would find a proctologist.
After a long moment I closed the freezer door. I wanted to lie down and press my cheek against the cool linoleum. Instead I reached out with my little finger and flipped the Barbie's head. It went thack thack against the door. I flipped it again. Thack thack. Whee. I had a new hobby.
It was always hard work to push through a crowed of reporters with the scent of blood in their nostrils. You might not think so, since on camera they appear to be brain-damaged wimps with severe eating disorders. But put them at a police barricade and a miraculous thing happens...The strength comes from some mysterious place-and somehow, when there is gore on the ground, these anorexic creatures can push their way through anything. Without mussing their hair, too.
And here I always thought morality was useless.
I'm a very neat monster.
And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.
It revealed a cruelty that really made one wonder if the universe was such a good idea after all.
The faster it ran away from me. And I found myself reasoning that perhaps one more beer would unlock the doors of perception.
Happily for me, ninety-nine percent of all human life is spent simply repeating the same old actions, speaking the same tired clichés, moving like a zombie through the same steps of the dance we plodded through yesterday and the day before and the day before. It seems horribly dull and pointless-but it really makes a great deal of sense. After all, if you only have to follow the same path every day, you don't need to think at all. Considering how good humans are at any mental process more complicated than chewing, isn't that the best for everybody?
There is a simple, logical explanation,' I said to myself. And because you never know who else is listening, I added, 'And there is nothing under the bed.'" --Dexter
Getting yelled at by a furious woman should be treated as a semiformal occasion.
I was filled with dread at the thought my mind had skipped town and left me behind to pay the rent." --Dexter
Saturday morning was their unrestricted television time, and they usually took advantage of it to watch a series of cartoon shows that would certainly have been impossible before the discovery of LSD.
Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would be a much better place without someone in it who could do that, but did that mean we had to miss lunch?
Of course, having information to use is one thing. Knowing what it means and how to use it is a different story.
Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?
But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am; as I said, no rest for the wicked.
The whole point of wearing a disguise was to be seen wearing her.
A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.
In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.
For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.
Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.
And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.
It’s an odd term, 'girlfriend,' particularly for grown persons. And in practice it provides an even odder concept. Generally speaking, in adults it described a woman, not a girl, who was willing to provide sex, not friendship. In fact, from what I had observed it was quite possible for one to actively dislike one’s girlfriend, although of course true hatred is reserved for marriage.
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