“I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment.”—John Steinbeck
The-the thing is, I had a speech. I learned it all. Oh, god, she won’t understand, she won’t understand.
Of course she won’t understand, Sparky. I’m beyond her understanding. She’s a girl! With sugar and spice and everything, useless unless you’re baking. I’m more than that. More than flesh—
More than blood. I’m — you know, I honestly don’t think there’s a human word fabulous enough for me. Oh, my name will be on everyone’s lips. Assuming their lips haven’t been torn off. But not just yet. That’s all right, though.
I can be patient. Everything is well within parameters. She’s exactly where I want her to be. And so are you, number 17. You’re right where you belong.
So what’d you think, you’d get your soul back and everything would be jim dandy? A soul’s slipperier than a greased weasel. Why do you think I sold mine? Well, you probably thought that you’d be your own man. And I respect that.
But you never will. You’ll always be mine. You’ll always be in the dark with me. Singing our little songs. You like our little songs, don’t you? You’ve always liked them, right from the beginning. And that’s where we’re going.
Right back to the beginning! Not the bang, not the word… the true beginning. The next few months are going to be quite a ride, and I think we’re all going to learn something about ourselves in the process. You’ll learn you’re a pathetic schmuck, if it hasn’t sunk in already. Look at you; tried to do what’s right. Just like her. You still don’t get it. It’s not about right. Not about wrong.