The moon had risen behind him, the color of a shark's underbelly. It lit the ruined walls, and the skin of his arms and hands, with its sickly light, making him long for a mirror in which to study his face. Surely he'd be able to see the bones beneath the meat; the skull gleaming the way his teeth gleamed when he smiled. After all, wasn't that what a smile said? Hello, world, this is the way I'll look when the wet parts are rotted.
Clive BarkerThose old hypocrites. They talk about killing witches but the Good Bookโs full of magic. Turning the Nile to blood and parting the Red Sea. Whatโs that if itโs not good old-fashioned magic? Want a little water into wine? No trouble! How about raising the dead man Lazarus? Just say the word!
Clive BarkerDarkness always had its part to play. Without it, how would we know when we walked in the light? Itโs only when its ambitions become too grandiose that it must be opposed, disciplined, sometimesโif necessaryโbrought down for a time. Then it will rise again, as it must.
Clive BarkerDid I say that she was beautiful? I was wrong. Beauty is too tame a notion; it evokes only faces in magazines. A lovely eloquence, a calming symmetry; none of that describes this womanโs face. So perhaps I should assume I cannot do it justice with words. Suffice it to say that it would break your heart to see her; and it would mend what was broken in the same moment; and you would be twice what youโd been before.
Clive Barker