Nici c-ai putea sa socotesti acele luni ce-i stralucesc/pe acoperisuri/Sau miile de sori splendizi ce i se ascund pe dupa ziduri./

I hated her; I wanted her to burn, the way so many of the corrupted had burned, because she’d put her hold on them. But wanting cruelty felt like another wrong answer in an endless chain.

The elevation of ends and the simplification of means is the goal.

Dennis Hutch had stepped up into the top seat when its founder had died of a lethal overdose of brick wall, taken while under the influence of a Ferrari and a bottle of tequila.

Written By Douglas Adams

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