Some Sorts Of Truth Are

He Was Not Immoral, But Merely Unmoral.

I Do Not Live For What The World Thinks Of Me, But For What I Think Of Myself.

Having No New Companions, Nothing Remained For Him But To Read.

The Aim Of Life Was Meat. Life Itself Was Meat. Life Lived On Life. There Were The Eaters And The Eaten.

Ever Bike? Now That's Something That Makes Life Worth Living!... Oh, To Just Grip Your Handlebars And Lay Down To It, And Go Ripping And Tearing Through Streets And Road, Over Railroad Tracks And Bridges, Threading Crowds, Avoiding Collisions, At Twenty Miles Or More An Hour, And Wondering All The Time When You're Going To Smash Up. Well, Now, That's Something! And Then Go Home Again After Three Hours Of It... And Then To Think That Tomorrow I Can Do It All Over Again!