I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.
We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.
We read in Rabelais of how the Devil took to flight when the woman showed him her vulva.
It must be remembered that there is no real reason to expect anything in particular from mankind; good and evil are local expedients—or their lack—and not in any sense cosmic truths or laws.
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, “It’s pretty, but is it Art?”
