I'm Not Chinese. I Thrive In Interesting

In The Dark Attics Of Our Minds, All Times Mingle.

One Cannot Seek To Uphold Honor In A Being That Has None.

We're All Made Of Stories. When They Finally Put Us Underground, The Stories Are What Will Go On. Not Forever, Perhaps, But For A Time. It's A Kind Of Immortality, I Suppose, Bounded By Limits, It's True, But Then So's Everything.

But That's What We All Are-just Stories. We Only Exist By How People Remember Us, By The Stories We Make Of Our Lives. Without The Stories, We'd Just Fade Away.

Well, You Know This World Isn't Perfect.' 'no, You're Wrong. This World Is Perfect, People Just Come Along And Mess It Up Sometimes.