We breathe the light, we breathe the music, we breathe the moment as it passes through us.

Don't you see? It is a new age. It requires a new evil. And I am that new evil.

I can't keep up with Stephen King's output.

Like all strong people, she suffered always a measure of loneliness; she was a marginal outsider, a secret infidel of a certain sort.

I think to feel this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

But death we are, and death we've always been.

Should we put out the light? And then put out the light. But once put out thy light, I cannot give it vital breath again. It needs must wither.