In a thousand years, when I’ve all but forgotten how to love yet again, you’ll flit back into my heart, and I’ll weep, wondering what happened to my mad love.

Fine, I guess I'll just stay here and eat dirt or whatever.

But loneliness that deep gets into the marrow. Now that I’m here - among friends - I can feel it burning out of me. Little by little, step by step.

I don't mean to judge a book by its cover, but that man is all cover and no pages.

How would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards?