[T]hese last few days where I've moped around damn near depressed for real, because of people who do not exist. Not really. I can buy them Christmas presents, but there is no way to send them. Sometimes I feel like I should be able to walk into the next room and there they will be, but they won't. These people do not exisit as flesh and blood, but there are different kinds of reality, and there are days when imagination feels very, very real.

In chains and darkness, wherefore should I stay, And mourn in prison, while I keep the key.

I so wanted out of this conversation, but it was like a car accident: Once you started spinning, you could only wait and see what you hit.

Hope will lie to you, but lust is what it is; it never lies.

Why is it that most things you might willingly do under other circumstances become distasteful when you have no choice?

The Catholic Church sees voluntary vampirism as a kind of suicide. I tend to agree. Though the Pope also excommunicated all animators, unless we ceased raising the dead. Fine; I became Episcopalian.

I don't want him hurt because he got out of hand with me." "Yet you would have shot him." I shrugged. "I never said I was consistent, just serious.