Most men when they make up their faces, the makeup stands forward, and their faces are behind.
I don't know how people act. I've never understood that.
Vienna is cold, and dark, and sad. It is laid out as though for a royal parade; the streets are wide and they're flanked by monumental buildings, decorated with the faces of angry gods. And on the roof are statues of national heroes, wielding weapons of destruction.
God is so angry. All that power, and so mean with it.
Europeans have quarrelled since the beginning of time.
Nothing in our culture, not even home computers, is more overrated than the epidermal felicity of two featherless bipeds in desperate congress.