The notion of a universality of human experience is a confidence trick and the notion of a universality of female experience is a clever confidence trick.

We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.

The invisible is only another unexplored country, a brave new world.

Those are the voices of my brothers, darling; I love the company of wolves.

Your thin white face, chérie; he said, as if he saw it for the first time. Your thin white face, with its promise of debauchery only a connoisseur could detect.

A book is simply the container of an idea-like a bottle; what is inside the book is what matters.

Midnight, and the clock strikes. It is Christmas Day, the werewolves birthday, the door of the solstice still wide enough open to let them all slink through.