Suppose death had a heart to love and to release you, to whom would he turn this passion, would you chose a person from the crowd there. A person to suffer as you suffer.

My own funeral, I'd like to be laid out in a coffin in my own house. I would like my coffin to be put in the double parlor, and I would like all the flowers to be white.

The library furnished our dreams, helped us shape our ambitions, made up people of books and ideas and grand designs.

Whipping is fifty percent show and noise.

The fans, the vampire groupies, love the idea of this androgynous, preternatural figure stalking the night, and craving aesthetic pleasure just as he craves blood, wearing only the best velvet clothes, and savoring red roses.

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

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