Maybe The Truth Is I Really Want

To Hell With Housework, Our Top Priority Has Always Been Between Our Legs.

You Tell Yourself That Noise Is What Defines Silence. Without Noise, Silence Would Not Be Golden. Noise Is The Exception. Think Of Deep Outer Space, The Incredible Cold And Quiet Where Your Wife And Kid Wait. Silence, Not Heaven, Would Be Reward Enough.

When I See People Talking On The Internet About Me Or My Work It's Almost Always More A Description Of Themselves And So I Never Really Think Of Myself As Anything More Than Just Who I Always Was.

People Take Conventional Ways That Other People Have Always Decorated Their Cars, And Use Them As Ways Of Giving Other People Permission To Approach Them.

Maybe It's Our Sins That Give God Consolation When He Finally Has To Give Us Cancer.