"Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?" — Jack Kerouac

Notoriety and public confession in the literary form is a frazzler of the heart you were born with, believe me.

I don't really go out at all.

My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet.

Mankind is like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.