Please do not strain yourself, Miss Doyle. I won't have my girls going cross-eyed in the name of art.

Time has no meaning. I feel as if I have been left in the desert to die and am eagerly awaiting the vultures to begin their work and end my misery.

We have traveled through space and time. We have been many places. Visited many worlds. And there is good news: the acoustics everywhere are terrific.

Perhaps this is how girls fall -- not in some crime of enchantment at the hands of a wicked ne'er-do-well, a grand before and after in which they are innocent victims who have no say in the matter. Perhaps they simply are kissed and want to kiss back. Perhaps they even kiss first. And why should they not?

You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.

I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.

I don't think you should die until you're ready. Until you've wrung out every last bit of living you can.