It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face.

As if the night had said to me, ‘You are the night and the night alone understands you and enfolds you in its arms’ One with the shadows. Without nightmare. An inexplicable peace.

To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.

How could anyone love Him? What did you just tell me yourself about the world? Don't you see, everybody hates God now. It's not that God is dead in the twentieth century. It's that everybody hates Him! At least I think so.

One tiny flame could make so many other flames; one tiny flame could set afire a whole world.

The world changes, we do not, therein lies the irony that kills us.

Do you know what it means to be loved by Death?... Do you know what it means to have Death know your name?