The devil is not as black as he is painted.

How come I never meet any nice girls?

If you give people light, they will find their own way.

Perceive ye not that we are worms, designed To form the angelic butterfly, that goes To judgment, leaving all defence behind? Why doth your mind take such exalted pose, Since ye, disabled, are as insects, mean As worm which never transformation knows?

A rapid bolt will rend the clouds apart, and every single White be seared by wounds. I tell you this. I want it all to hurt.

O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?

O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small,/ Who by the dim lights of your twisted minds/ Believe you prosper even as you fall,/ Can you not see that we are worms, each one/ Born to become the angelic butterfly/ That flies defenseless to the Judgement Throne?