The late hour is such a friend; it has been for so many years. There is not a soul around as I carry Riley downstairs and dump him in my trunk. It is good, for I am not in the mood to kill again, and murder, for me, is very much tied to my mood, like making love. Even when it is necessary.

Yet, ironically, it is her very wretchedness that makes me pity her so. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what to do!

No religion is perfect, not after man gets through with it.

In that moment, there was no place for doubt. I was sitting with the supreme being. I had always sat beside her. She was inside of me.

The seconds tick. They always do. The power of an entire sun cannot stop them even for a moment, and so death comes between the moments, like a thief of light in the dark.

I am a vampire. Blood does not bother me.

In this world of gossip, a good listener is rarer than a great orator.