No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering.

Witch, do this for me, Find me a moon made of longing. Then cut it sliver thin, and having cut it, hang it high above my beloved's house, so that she may look up tonight and see it, and seeing it, sigh for me as I sigh for her, moon or no moon.

She had opened a door... and now she was walking with demons. And at the end of her travels, she would have her revenge... Pain had made a sadist of her.

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.

She wanted nothing that he could offer her, except perhaps his absence.

Sooner or later even the most ambitious glutton must crawl away and seek the solace of the vomitorium.

The extraordinary's the norm.