Let the jagged edge of sobriety be now dulled.
Heaven would never be heaven without you.
Memory was such a worthless thing, really. Nothing it dealt with was attainable. It was concerned with phantom acts and feelings, with all that was uncapturable except in thought. It was without satisfaction.
I can get pissed off very easily.
A surfeiting of terror soon made terror a cliché.
Quiet is here and all in me. ("Dress of White Silk")