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Dear Diary, I know what my next science project is going to be called: "My love/hate relationship with Gravity."
One day we'll finish you once and for all, Penguin -- you and all the other loathsome criminal parasites! We'll wipe you out like the vermin you really are. And then this will be a good, safe, clean city -- a place where children can grow up free from your corruption and filth!
Batman fired me. Again. He said I wasnt... -- I want to thank you for your friendship, Cassie. And I want you to know that whatever he says, I'm not going to give up. Fighting crime, I mean... I'll show him -- I'll show them all...
A guy asked me a question the other day... about why people run when things get tough. That's easy -- you can become someone else, wherever you land, right? Who's gonna know the difference? So why stay? Why set yourself up for more failure? For more pain? Also easy -- because we don't know how to do anything else. So why stay? Why open yourself up to all the bad you've tried to leave behind? "The only variable you can control is yourself." You can forget who you are, or you can be who you want to be. That's why you stay. You stay for a second chance.
I buy your theory. I[t] fi[t]s, but I'm guessing she's got no idea she has a power. What if she doesn't know about it, and it affe[ct]s her too, the sa[m]e as e[v]erbody else she's around? High on herself twenty-four se[v]en?
Dear Diary, Robin and I are in it up t our necks again. It's like we were never apart. And the risks don't matter. I'm not talking about physical risk. That's a give with all the dangers we love to put ourselves in. I'm talking about my heart, Diary. That's where I could really get hurt.
Before he... left... Batman told me I had to make Tim better. And that's what I've been trying to do... but... I just don't know... I don't know... if making him a better Robin will make him a worse person.
Well anyway, there's one more thing about last night that just doesn't fit. What in tarnation did you find to like about that woman's music? She sings like nails on a chalkboard, her lyrics are a grandiose mush, and my grandma's cat plays piano better than her. Yet you were enraptured, what was I missing?
Insect girl here calls herself Tiger Moth. Guess she got in line late and all the good names were taken but she announced it real dramatic like-to explain why neither of us can lay a hand on her. No pun intended, but I don't see the connection. Scares me to see Batman missing like this-each punch wide as a mile.