Would you rather live in peace as Mr. Nobody, die ripe, old and smellin' slightly of urine? Or go down for all times in a glaze of glory, smellin' near like posies, 'thout seein' your thirtieth?

Speaking of harm's way. Know what I see lookin' at you? Walking, talking corpses.

If planting bombs net enough, what can you do? You become bomb.

Oo, I love this town! Love it like you might love a mother who popped you out on the steps of an orphanage and now stops you to ask if you got a smoke for her!

Now, as that ol' Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either.