If I cared for human approval, I would have been dead long ago.

We write dust epitaphs for our vanquished enemies and watch them blow away in the desert wind.

But then, that was the problem with pretty toy stitches. When real life got hold of them, they always tore out.

Of course, the more you read, the more you learn, and ultimately there is more information than you can ever use. The difficulty is that as an outsider, you know you're too ignorant for your own good, and so the urge to keep researching and *never* start writing is pretty strong.

Killing isn't free. It takes something out of you every time you do it. You get their life; they get a piece of your soul. It's always a trade.

All life produces waste. The act of living produces costs, hazards and disposal questions, and so the (Environment) Ministry has found itself in the center of all life, mitigating, guiding and policing the detritus of the average person along with investigating the infractions of the greedy and short-sighted, the ones who wish to make quick profits and trade on others' lives for it.

Knowledge is always two-edged. For every benefit, there is hazard. For every good, evil.