I picture heaven as a vast library, with unlimited volumes to read. And paintings and statues to examine galore. I picture it as a great doorway to learning...rather than one great dull answer to all our questions

The old gods will bring about vengeance not so much because they exist but because I once honored them.

I'm always looking, and I'm always asking questions.

In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?

I'm Gentleman Death in silk and lace, come to put out the candles. The canker in the heart of the rose.

In a way he made me think of a child doll, with briliant faintly red-brown glass eyes - a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him evevn more radiant than he was. "That's what you always want," he said softly... "When you found me under Les Innocents," he said, "you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvevt with great embroidered sleeves." "Yes," I said, "and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair." My tone was angry. "You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.

When I'm writing, the darkness is always there. I go where the pain is.