The horror genre is an extremely delicate thing. You can talk to filmmakers and even psychologists who've studied the genre, and even they don't understand what works or what doesn't work. More importantly, they don't understand why it works when it works.

I can remember as a college student writing stories and novels, some of which ended up getting published and some that didn't. It was like my head was going to burst - there were so many things I wanted to write all at once. I had so many ideas, jammed up. It was like they just needed permission to come out.

I believe in evil, but all my life I've gone back and forth about whether or not there's an outside evil, whether or not there's a force in the world that really wants to destroy us, from the inside out, individually and collectively.

Even when love isn't enough...somehow it is.

Let evil wait for the day on which it must fall.

...they came to see what happened to their town, to see if it was indeed lying burnt and bleeding. Many of them also came to die.

Hemingway sucks. If I set out to write that way, it would have been been hollow and lifeless because it wasn't me.