twisted

I feel like I've always had a sordid sense of humor, and it's only gotten more twisted as I've gotten older.

You're lucky I'm drawn to things that are sick and weird. Makes it so I can actually still like you.

But if there was a protocol for how to say goodbye to your newly ex-boyfriend's brother, right after you kissed him and probably sent your ex into the arms of his willing ex-girlfriend, I didn't know what it was.

Secrets are dangerous._ Gottfried Baumauer.

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die..

love is a drop of bloodin apool of tears

The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?

Bah-Bah-black sheep, have you any soul?No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?

Only men with intelligence, confidence and absolutely no empathy at all can progress upstairs.

Each day of the week, Kalist indulges himself in a different, secret ritual. On Mondays, he wears cologne. On Tuesdays, he eats meat for lunch. On Wednesdays, he places a bet after work. On Thursdays, he smokes one cigarette (but claims he__ not a smoker). On Fridays, he treats himself to his favourite pastime: horse practice _ he grew up with horses and likes to try and emulate their distinctive whinnies, snorts, neighs, snuffles, sighs, grunts, fluttering nostrils, the occasional aggressive outburst and the especially beautiful nicker of a mare to her foal. And, on Saturdays, lest we forget, Maxwell D. Kalist drinks wine from a chalice.

Don__ mock my suggestions, Ridley _ one day in the near future, they might just save your life._ Maxwell D. Kalist.

To Kalist, Baumauer__ just a timber bridge in need of a good hot fire.

You are a more powerful person than you might have ever imagined._ Maxwell D. Kalist.

Are there not times, Ridley, when you yourself wish only to hear the best in people _ and not to be dragged downwards into the underworld we all regularly inhabit?

I__ warning you because you__e young and vulnerable. He__ a dirty, lying, conniving piece of shit and he__ dangerous._ Gottfried Baumauer.

Shame comes in different doses.

Maxwell D. Kalist is a receiving teller at a city bank, Orwell and Finch, where he runs an efficient department of twenty two clerks and twelve junior clerks. He carries a leather-bound vade mecum everywhere with him _ a handbook of the most widely contravened banking rules. He works humourlessly (on the surface of it) in a private, perfectly square office on the third floor of a restored grain exchange midway along the Eastern flank of Kv_tniv__ busy, modern central plaza. Behind his oblong slate desk and black leather swivel chair is an intimidating, three-storey wall made almost entirely of bevelled, glare-reducing grey glass in art-deco style; one hundred and thirty six rectangles of gleam stacked together in a dangerously heavy collage.

She lit my soul and inhaled deeplyFlicking my ashes occasionally.