Your flesh is killing your spirit. You have forsaken yourself.

I don't take accusations of selling out lightly.

Maybe the man had taken the wrong turning, but at least he'd travelled some extraordinary roads.

What worth was a man who could not be haunted?

I'm a great dog fanatic. My own dog died a little while ago and I take it very personally when things die-it's a major offence.

Well, here he was. They could save each other, the way the poets promised lovers should. He was mystery, he was darkness, he was all she had dreamed of. And if she would only free him he would service her - oh yes - until her pleasure reached that threshold that, like all thresholds, was a place where the strong grew stronger, and the weak perished. Pleasure was pain there, and vice versa. And he knew it well enough to call it home.

I dreamt a limitless book, A book unbound, Its leaves scattered in fantastic abundance On every line there was a new horizon drawn, New heavens supposed; New states, new souls.