I suppose that's what happens when you make other people's lives miserable: life gets miserable back at you.

A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds.

She doesn't understand that doors, walls, fences, ceilings - they're helpless to keep out what determinedly desires to get in.

My life was pouring out my feet and seeping through cracks in the floor; yet still I knelt and did not move, for fear she'd let go my hands. Let me stay, I wanted to beg: Please don't make me go.

Nothing was easy, and sometimes she failed, and sometimes she thought that the fairy stories were right, that there must indeed be easier ways of living happily ever after; but defeat is a poor ending to any tale, so she kept trying.

There's fire in my fingers. I burn everything I touch.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.