sometimes i have a chance encounter with somebody's words, and they sum things up. when this happens, they tend to be words that carry no particularly burdensome weight, and yet they still somehow manage to point out (rather damningly) the retardation of whatever overwraught pathos i have decided to pin to my lapel that day. today, bogart's philip marlowe tactfully reminds me to stop trying to make everything so goddam complicated:
General Sternwood: How do you like your brandy, sir?
Philip Marlowe: In a glass.
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