I learned that it is the weak who are cruel, and that gentleness is to be expected only from the strong.

And it is me who is my enemy, me who beats me up, me who makes the monsters, me who strips my confidence. . . And it's me who's too weak and it's me who's shy to ask for the thing I love.

As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.

. . . your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.