Don't Mourn, Organise

There's Only Room For One Hero In This Story-and Everyone Knows The Devil Doesn't Get To Be The Good Guy.

Who Knows What May Lie Around The Next Corner? There May Be A Window Somewhere Ahead. It May Look Out On A Field Of Sunflowers.

I'll Take The Shooting. I'm Used To That. I've Been Shot A Few Times In The Past, And I Guess I Can Stand It, Again.

The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The Original Esperanto.

Her Sanity Was A Fragile Thing, A Butterfly Cupped In Her Hands, That She Carried With Her Everywhere, Afraid Of What Would Happen If She Let It Go-or Got Careless And Crushed It.