I have been writing now for over a week. I find it cleansing, refreshing; it is good for me.” (p.531)

If life is a battle, then my inner scars are medals for valor, for swiftness, for courage, for passion. Evil is the dark-haired brother of Good; they walk hand in hand—always.

We had given it a name, a substance, and somehow, in doing that, we had condemned ourselves.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

The Gelaming regarded themselves as a force for good, and in many ways they were, but they were also inexorable and their compassion could often feel like oppression.

No one, not even lovers, are truly psychic, and everyone flounders around each other, misunderstanding, misinterpreting, sending out confusing signals.

I'm inspired by dreams and shadows, obsession and desire. By nature, I'm a dream collector and never stop working. I question people about their weirdest dreams and the strangest, most inexplicable experiences they've had. All this information whirls around in my mind, and new dreams emerge that form the seeds of stories and novels.