My owner is worried about me turning out to be a womanizing pompous jerk. What an idea. What an ide-a. I think she takes her dreams a little too seriously, seeing how I would never go to a mall (with her), swallow a TV remote (by accident! PFFT), and refuse to get medical attention because the cashier is a hot chick, age 18. I mean, ASTAGFIRULLAH. Not only was she too old for me, but I do not abandon all the laws of propriety to chase after some random girl! :@

There is a remarkable picture called Contemplation. It shows a forest in winter and on a roadway through the forest, in absolute solitude, stands a peasent in a torn kaftan and bark shoes. He stands, as it were, lost in thought. Yet he is not thinking: he is "contemplating." If anyone touched him, he would start and look bewildered. It's true he would come to himself immediately; but if he were asked what he had been thinking about, he would remember nothing. Yet probably he has hidden within himself, the impression which dominated him during the period of contemplation. Those impressions are dear to him and he probably hoards them imperceptibly, and even unconsciously. How and why, of course, he does not know. He may suddenly, after hoarding impressions for many years, abandon everything and go off to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage. Or he may suddenly set fire to his native village. Or he may do both. ~ The Brothers Karamazov Fyodor Dostoyevksy