I mean, what could ever be better than sex?
For sure, even the worst blow job is better than, say, sniffing the best rose... watching the greatest sunset. Hearing children laugh.
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a hot-gushing, butt-cramping, guthosing orgasm.
Painting a picture, composing an opera, that's just something you do until you find the next willing piece of ass.
— Whenever and wherever I've seen Christ, He always looks so sad. I've never seen Him smiling. Why is that?
— I'll tell you. He is unhappy because... His children, the people of the world are sad.
— Does my sadness make Him feel sad?
— Of course. Because He loves you.
— I won't be sad. I'll make Him laugh.
— I'd think you'd be happy for me.
— I am happy for you. You had the courage to walk over there with your pus-filled eye and fall on your ass and still got a date with one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. I'm not only happy for you, I'm proud of you. Now, I have to re-evaluate everything I thought I knew about men, women, relationships, God and the universe. But that's not your problem.
Such is human psychology that if we don't express our joy, we soon cease to feel it.
We all have our bright moments, dear Mother.
Geteilte Freude ist doppelte Freude, geteilter Schmerz ist halber Schmerz.