Nothing else loves me, or ever will. Not even - especially - me. I know what I am and that is not a thing to love.

Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me.

Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?

In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.

I looked around the store and what I saw was not very encouraging. There were rows and rows of violent toys...aisle after aisle of training devices for recreational slaughter. No wonder our world was such a mean and violent place...if we teach children that killing is fun, can we really be surprised if now and then someone is smart enough to learn?

A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.

I'm a very neat monster.