Garden of Pain, I need you. What were the songs of beasts to the cries of sentient souls?

Goodnight sweet prince, may flights of devils wing you to your rest.

I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.

Yes, I know," "And I love to hear you say it, Louis. I need to hear you say it. I don't think anyone will ever say it quite like you do. Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!

Maybe that's what Hell is. You go mad. And all your demons come and get you just as fast as you can think them up.

I was at a loss suddenly; but conscious all the while of how Armand listened; that he listened in the way that we dream of others listening, his face seeming to reflect on every thing said. He did not start forward to seize on my slightest pause, to assert an understanding of something before the thought was finished, or to argue with a swift, irresistible impulse -- the things which often make dialogue impossible. And after a long interval he said, 'I want you. I want you more than anything in the world.

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