Any Librarian Or Scholar Will Tell You:

What Hamlet Suffers From Is A Lack Of Zombies. Let Us Say Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Show Up—ho-ho! Now You’ve Got Something That Stirs The, Um, Something That Stirs Things That Are Stirrable. Boom! A Pack Of Ravenous Flesh-eaters Breaks Open Their Heads And Sucks Out Their Eyeballs. No Need For Iambic Pentameter Because They Are Grunting, Groaning Annihilators Of Humanity With No Time For Meter. You’re Not Asleep In The Back Of English Class Anymore, Are You? This Is What I’m Talking About. Zombies. Learn It, Live It, Love It.

Centuries Of Fighting, And For What? I Say. "today It Ends. I Can't Live In Fear Any Longer. I've Cursed This Power. I've Both Enjoyed And Misused It. And I've Hidden It Away. Now I Must Try To Wield It Correctly, To Marry It To A Purpose And Hope That Is Enough.

We All Do Things We Desperately Wish We Could Undo. Those Regrets Just Become Part Of Who We Are, Along With Everything Else. To Spend Time Trying To Change That, Well, It's Like Chasing Clouds.

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him.

Just Once I’d Like To Meet A Fella Who Isn’t A Phony. Somebody Who Doesn’t Wanna Buy Me A Fur So He Can Show Me Off To His Boys.