It’s been seven years since I left. It’s no paradise - but it’s home. And it’s worth saving.

I want to wake up beside a handsome virgin every morning, but life doesn't give us what we want.

I've taken more pleasant shits than you, Mizora.

I love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up.

Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.