Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.
What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
Everybody's there, and I mean everybody. And the strange thing is, there's not a sad face to be found, everyone's just so happy to see you.
It was that night I discovered that most things you consider evil or wicked are simply lonely, and lacking in the social niceties.
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.
You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.