If I had but an hour of love,if that be all that is given me,an hour of love upon this earth,I would give my love to thee.

As if in the other side of his kiss there could ve a new life

I'm just a friendly bystander who they occasionally ask questions of. That's my level of involvement.

One thing about failing repeatedly: If you're still doing it after you've failed that much, you really mean it.

Murder had a blood red door on the other side of which was everything unimaginable to everyone.

At the tips of the feathers there is air and at their base: blood. I hold up bones; I wish like broken glass they could court light....still I try to place these pieces back together, to set them firm, to make murdered girls live again.

How could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home?