Memory Inevitably Romanticizes, Pressing Reality

Suicide Kills Two People.

I Figure I've Done What I Could Do, More Or Less, And Now I'm Going Back To Being A Chemical; All We Are Is A Lot Of Talking Nitrogen, You Know.

He Have His Goodness Now. God Forbid I Take It From Him!

I Speak My Own Sins; I Cannot Judge Another. I Have No Tongue For It.

No One Wants The Truth If It Is Inconvenient.