When you’ve spent your life being judged for who you are, you try to keep an open mind about people.
When you put a dead judge, the Gerhardt family, and some hitters from Kansas in a bag together, I go back to thinking it might be best just to confess to the crime myself, go live a long life in a cell somewhere with hot and cold running water.
There comes a time when a man must look at himself in the mirror, to judge himself instead of waiting to be judged by others.
The art never judges. I envy it. Life in two dimensions. Frozen in forever beauty. To watch the world go by unencumbered by the gossip and the pain of three-dimensional men.