I’ve killed men, and I’ve heard them dying. And I’ve watched them dying. And there’s nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You say you want to die for love, but you know nothing about dying. And you know nothing about love![to Paris]
I’ve killed men, and I’ve heard them dying. And I’ve watched them dying. And there’s nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You say you want to die for love, but you know nothing about dying. And you know nothing about love![to Paris]