This isn't milk. It's five parts milk and one part vodka. I call it ambrosia. Drink of the gods. You can barely smell the vodka in the milk, so the Eagle can't catch me unless he actually takes a sip. The downside is that it tastes like sour milk and rubbing alcohol.
This mystery can’t be solved. We have to live with that for the rest of our lives.
And I wrote my way out of the labyrinth.
Not to ask the obvious question, but why Alaska?
How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?
The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.
That swan is the spawn of Satan. Never get closer to it than we are now.
Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.
When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.
My question? It has no answer.
It’s not imaginary. It’s my great perhaps.
I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation.
The pigs can’t stop the fox; I’m too quick. I can rhyme while I run; I’m that slick.
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