"Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman
The Classic StoryBook - 1997
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My soul would be an outlaw. I can do nothing with it. The coward body my soul inhabits has pleaded with the renegade, has cried for pity, has implored the pistolero, my soul, to live safely, to observe quietly, to live in peace, with a degree of contentment. My soul curses like the guttersnipe it is, and hurls another Molotov cocktail at my complacency. So I am doomed. My soul will be an outlaw.
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