Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary, poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their vanishing words. I watched their love visions and freed them from their fear.

The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?

You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.

I'm gonna hunt my life down and grab it.

And they would all smile at the beauty of destruction.

When death captures me,' the boy vowed, 'he will feel my fist on his face.' Personally, I quite like that. Such stupid gallantry. Yes. I like that a lot.