Religion is for followers... Followers and puppets.

I feel like a goddess, jailed in her Olympus. Little wonder how the gods toyed with humans. Toyed with women, to watch them squirm, pollinate the seeds of despair; toyed with men, to satiate their Seven Deadly Sins.

Or might the soul clone itself, create a perfect imitation of something yet to be defined? In this way, can a reflection be altered?

Perfection I've lived with the pretense of perfection for seventeen years. Give my room a cursory inspection, you'd think I have OCD. But it's only habit and not obsession that keeps it all orderly. Of course, I don't want to give the impression that it's all up to me.

Easier, sometimes, to gulp down giant spoonfuls of uncertainty than it is to swallow throat-clogging capsules of what really is.

Forgiveness is easy. Trust is much more difficult, and should never be given lightly.

Love can complete you. It can also destroy you.