“This place's a festering whore's crotch. Do I own it?”
“Beckett turned to Mouse again. “This place’s a festering whore’s crotch. Do I own it?”
“I've seen more intelligence in the crotch lice of harem whores.”
“I embrace my own festering diseased corruption,”
“Do you find it erotic how my pants bulge in the crotch, where I keep my coffee cup?”
“But it would have made me a whore to leave it incomplete. It would have made it easier to leave future work incomplete. It would have made it more and more difficult to draw upon that additional aching surge of effort that is always the difference between integrity and deceit in a created work. I would not be the whore to my own existence. Can you understand that? I would not be the whore to my own existence.”