What Molds Us Is What Maims Us.

What's Your Name?" "emma Gould," She Said. "what's Yours?" "wanted." "by All The Girls Or Just The Law?

It Had Occurred To Sean Once - On A Bender About Ten Years Before With Some Buddies, Sean And A Bloodstream Full Of Bourbon Turning Philosophical - That Maybe They Had Gotten In That Car. All Three Of Them. And What They Now Thought Of As Their Life Was Just A Dream State. That All Three Of Them Were, In Reality, Still Eleven-year-old Boys Trapped In Some Cellar, Imagining What They'd Become If They Ever Escaped And Grew Up.

I Loved This Woman The Way You Love ... Well, Nothing," He Said, A Note Of Suprise In His Voice. "you Can’t Compare That Kind Of Love To Anything, Can You? It’s Its Own Unique Gift.

Do You Honestly Think Lenin Is Any Different From J.p. Morgan? That You, If You Were Given Absolute Power, Would Behave Any Differently? Do You Know The Primary Difference Between Men And Gods?...gods Don't Think They Can Become Men.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)