False language, evil in itself, infects the soul with evil.
It's not about love. Of course I love the little shit. But he knows too much about me that no one else on the planet knows, and when he's around I have no choice but to think about everything I hate about myself and my past. He's a gangrenous leg attached to my psyche, and I need to hack him off before he infects my whole fucking soul.
There is in man a specific lust for cruelty which infects even his passion of pity and makes it savage.
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