I mean, maybe I am crazy. I mean, maybe. But if this is all there is, then I don't want to be sane.

Agnes was the worst prophet that's ever existed. Because she was always right. That's why the book never sold.

But he did not understand the price. Mortals never do. They only see the prize, their heart's desire, their dream... But the price of getting what you want, is getting what you once wanted.

When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad.

I was not scared of anything, when I read my book.

Touched by her fingers, the two surviving chocolate people copulate desperately, losing themselves in a melting frenzy of lust, spending the last of their brief borrowed lives in a spasm of raspberry cream and fear.

He goes his way. We travel a spiral. The quickest way is sometimes the longest.