Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!
I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours.
When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional.
I have no taste for either poverty or honest labor, so writing is the only recourse left for me.
This is the fast lane, folks...and some of us like it here.
Morality is temporary, wisdom is permanent.
Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.
No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.
Faster, Faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death.
So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?
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