Long Week. Long Month. Long Life.

But As For Me: I Must Ask The Wounded Man Where He Is Hurt, Because I Cannot Become The Wounded Man. The Only Wounded Man I Can Be Is Me.

Amsterdam Is Like The Rings Of A Tree: It Gets Older As You Get Closer To The Center.

But We Can't Know Better Until Knowing Better Is Useless.

I'm Not Saying It Was Your Fault. I'm Saying It Wasn't Nice.

You Have A Choice In This World, I Believe, About How To Tell Sad Stories, And We Made The Funny Choice.