Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm.

For someone like myself in whom the ability to trust others is so cracked and broken that I am wretchedly timid and am forever trying to read the expression on people's faces.

Scoundrels [...] simply don't die. The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people. [...] Scoundrels live a long time. The beautiful die young.

Last year nothing happened The year before nothing happened And the year before that nothing happened.

Labeled a delinquent. That's the only kind of label I want to be crucified under.

Not long ago I learned from a certain person in considerable detail about the worthlessness of your character. All the same, it is you who have given me strength, you who have put the rainbow of revolution in my breast. It is you who have given an object to my life.

What did he mean by "society"? The plural of human beings?