If You Truly Love Me, Kill The

I Don't Think I Have A Tragic Demeanor.

Vienna Is Cold, And Dark, And Sad. It Is Laid Out As Though For A Royal Parade; The Streets Are Wide And They're Flanked By Monumental Buildings, Decorated With The Faces Of Angry Gods. And On The Roof Are Statues Of National Heroes, Wielding Weapons Of Destruction.

In England, Nobody's Your Friend.

Style, In The Broadest Sense Of All, Is Consciousness. More Specifically It Is A Consistent Idiom Arising Spontaneously From The Personality But Deliberately Maintained.

I Never Really Found Out What Love Was.