I don't like myself you know. I love myself. I'm devoted to myself till my dying day. But I don't like myself.

I don't like myself you know. I love myself. I'm devoted to myself till my dying day. But I don't like myself.

No matter how long we exist, we have our memories. Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering, some memories will yield nothing of their beauty or their splendor. Rather they remain as hard as gems.

Believe in angels? Then believe in vampires. Believe in me. There are worse things on earth.

I congratulate myself on not having arrived into the world until the present time. This age suits my taste.

Our language needs endless synonyms for beautiful; the eyes could see what the tongue cannot possibly describe.

What if I could give you your life back; pluck out the pain; and give you a world of unimaginable beauty that would be for all time.