There were faces at the windows and words written in blood; deep in the crypt a lonely ghoul crunched on something that might once have been alive; forked lightnings slashed the ebony night; the faceless were walking; all was right with the world

If you can't eat it, drink it, smoke it, or snort it... then f*ck it!

I'm sure there's an alternate universe where I got to become a pulpy science fiction writer.

Entropy and optimism: the twin forces that make the world go around.

I saw the world I had walked since my birth and I understood how fragile it was, that the reality was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger.

And, too ignorant to be scared, too young to be awed, Tristan Thorn traveled beyond the fields we know.

Love isn't quite desire... Love is probably a little bit in The Sandman's domain. Love is partly a dream, it's partly to do with desire, and sometimes it's partly to do with death, as well. It's also very often something to do with delirium.