Fortunately, where reason failed, blind panic served well enough.

If the first words out of your mouth are to cry 'political correctness!', ... chances are very, very high that you are in fact part of the problem.

He was dead again when I got home that day. His corpse was in the kitchen, near the counter, where it appeared he'd been chopping vegetables when the urge to stab himself through the wrist had struck. I slipped on the blood coming in, which annoyed me because that meant it was all over the kitchen floor.

Once upon a time there was a Once upon a time there was a Once upon a time there was a Stop this. It's undignified.

There is no greater warrior than a mother protecting her child.

But love like that doesn't just disappear, does it? No matter how powerful the hate, there is always a little love left, underneath. Yes. Horrible, isn't it?

Immortality gets very, very boring. You'd be surprised at how interesting the small mundanities of life can seem after a few millennia.