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What is love? ’Tis not hereafter. Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth’s a stuff will not endure. — William Shakespeare · 1602
There's no point to any of this. It's all just a...a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know...a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. And I sit back, and I...I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt. — Troy Dyer · 1994
There's no point to any of this. It's all just a...a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know...a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. And I sit back, and I...I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt. — Troy Dyer · 1994
A man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry. — Ecclesiastes 8:15 · 931 BC
There's no point to any of this. It's all just a...a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know...a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. And I sit back, and I...I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt. — Troy Dyer · 1994
There's no point to any of this. It's all just a...a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know...a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle. And I sit back, and I...I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt. — Troy Dyer · 1994
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter. Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth’s a stuff will not endure. — William Shakespeare · 1602
Let's have one other gaudy night. — William Shakespeare · 1607