— Do you ever dream, Forrest, about who you're gonna be?
— Who I'm gonna be?
— Aren't I going to be me?
You can forget me <...> But that doesn't mean I don't still exist.
But whom to love?
Whom you’d be trusting?
Who’s that, which never us betrays?
Who’s helpfully for us adjusting His own deeds and when he prays,
Who helps from slander not to perish?
Who carefully us can cherish?
To whom my vice is not a harm?
Who never bores us by his charm?
By those phantoms he, vain seeker, Should not in vain exhaust himself:
You first of alt must love yourself, My dear venerable reader!
Such subject’s worthy of your mind: More gentle never you will find.
Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.
I do my thing and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,
And you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful.
If not, it can't be helped.
It's like, without you, I feel myself... start to disappear.
I'm not angry. I'm not sad. All I feel anymore is horny.
I drink to make other people interesting.