Often people who are wonderful with animals aren't always terribly good with human beings.

After all, where can the glorious, the goofy, and the god-like stand shoulder to shoulder?

One part of love is innocence One part of love is guilt One part the milk that in a sense Is soured as soon as spilt One part of love is sentiment One part of love is lust One part is the presentiment Of our return to dust

We are all our own graveyards, I believe; we squat amongst the tombs of the people we were. If we're healthy, every day is a celebration, a Day of the Dead, in which we give thanks for the lives that we lived, and if we are neurotic we brood and mourn and wish that the past was still present.

Writing about the unholy is one way of writing about what is sacred.

But I think humans are innately religious as a species, so you don't need a specific excuse for examining the perversely unholy.

Angels have very nasty tempers. Especially when they’re feeling righteous.