I'm going to be dead for a long time, so I have a lot to do now.

Late last night and the night before, tommyknockers, tommyknockers knocking on my door. I wanna go out, don't know if I can 'cuz I'm so afraid of the tommyknocker man.

The devil's voice is sweet to hear.

How many times, over how many years, had he—a grown man—asked for the mercy of another chance? He was suddenly so sick of himself, so revolted, that he could have groaned aloud.

I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe.

My childhood was pretty ordinary, except from a very early age, I wanted to be scared. I just did. I was scared afterwards. I wanted a light on, because I was afraid that there was something in the closet. My imagination was very active, even at a young age.

Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.