The Rules Of Magic, My Dear, Are

How Do You Invent A Religion?” Evie Asked. Will Looked Over The Top Of His Spectacles. “you Say, ‘god Told Me The Following,’ And Then Wait For People To Sign Up.

Time Has No Meaning. I Feel As If I Have Been Left In The Desert To Die And Am Eagerly Awaiting The Vultures To Begin Their Work And End My Misery.

Memphis—it’s Just A Bird. Birds Fly Around, Brother. It’s What They Do. It’s Not Following You, And It’s Not A Sign. Unless You Really Did Give It Candy And Flowers, In Which Case You Are One Strange Brother.

The Rules Of Magic, My Dear, Are Best Not Discusses. For Once We Understand The Illusion, We No Longer Believe It.

And For A Moment, I Understand That I Have Friends On This Lonely Path; That Sometimes Your Place Is Not Something You Find, But Something You Have When You Need It.