He always knew the difference between a good quote and a bad quote.

"It bled comfortably down his arm, hand, and around the underside of his arm. He did not dare touch it, even as it began dropping from his arm onto the bare wooden ground. He followed the first droplet with his eyes straight to where it pounded against the ground. He was bleeding, yes, he had made that realization long ago; hell, he had done it himself and he did do it often. The sight of his own crimson blood always interested him no matter how many times he cut himself up to bleed on the floor. It made him wonder why he was not tempted to try his own; maybe it made him sick, but it was such a beautiful thing for himself. Or he just liked it. He knew he just liked it. He knew he liked self mutilation in all forms. Every form whether it was done by way of flame, fist, blade, or anything else they were all just perfect. Just perfect for himself. He deserved it. He deserved everything he did to himself and more." -- Tod Und Zerstorung