God Love The Car. It Has Shown

The Artist Lives In An Atmosphere Of Perpetual Failure.

I've Never Enjoyed Myself. I'm Incapable Of Enjoying Myself. There's Just Some People Who Don't Enjoy Themselves Very Much.

I Never Wanted To Be Well-rounded. I Do Not Admire Well-rounded People Nor Their Work. So Far As I Can See, Nothing Good In The World Has Ever Been Done By Well-rounded People. The Good Work Is Done By People With Jagged, Broken Edges, Because Those Edges Cut Things And Leave An Imprint, A Design.

The Truth Of The Matter Was Stories Was Everything And Everything Was Stories. Everybody Told Stories. It Was A Way Of Saying Who They Were In The World. It Was Their Understanding Of Themselves. It Was Letting Themselves Know How They Believed The World Worked, The Right Way And The Way That Was Not So Right.

Hell Came Right Along With God, Hand In Hand. The Stink Of Sulfur Swirled In The Air Of The Church, Fire Burned In The Aisles, And Brimstone Rained Out Of The Rafters. From The Evangelist's Oven Mouth Spewed Images Of A Place With Pitchforks, And Devils, And Lakes Of Fire That Burned Forever. God Had Fixed A Place Like That Because He Loved Us So Much.