It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.

May be she’ll learn something about what death really is, which is where the pain stops and the good memories begin. Not the end of life but the end of pain.

Clear communication between selves - the surface self and the deep self - is the enemy of self-doubt. It slays confusion.

I wanted to write a balls-to-the-wall supernatural horror story, something I haven't done in a long time.

...belief has a second edge. If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one - probably a child - who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.

Part of my function as a writer is to dream awake. And that usually happens. If I sit down to write in the morning, in the beginning of that writing session and the ending of that session, I'm aware that I'm writing. I'm aware of my surroundings. It's like shallow sleep on both ends, when you go to bed and when you wake up. But in the middle, the world is gone and I'm able to see better.

Pride was the belt you used to hold your pants up when you had no pants.