So the crow spirals down through a collapsed dream and the only sound it makes in like a concave scream.
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
There is a man, playing a violin, and the strings are the nerves in his own arm.
Death, like virtue, has its degrees.
It's not death if you refuse it... It is if you accept it.
Life is just a dream on the way to death.