The future is just wasted on some people.

I am the all-singing, all-dancing crap of this world.... I am the toxic waste by-product of God's creation.

Which is worse, hell or nothing?

I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.

A little old lady sitting at the front of the bus can do nothing to change civil rights.

She's so thin she's either dying or rich.

It seems that so much writing is being done in the nineteenth-century model, where every connection has to be thoroughly explained.