There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.

If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends.

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

So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.

Human beings do not relate to written words in the same way that they will relate to spoken words. They do not relate to music in the same way that they do to pictures. It's all different parts of our head, different parts of our minds processing this.

I don't know much more than I did when I was alive. Most of the stuff I know now that I didn't know then I can't put into words.

Life - and I don't suppose I'm the first to make this comparison - is a disease: sexually transmitted, and invariably fatal.