Death was the ultimate power and I his eager, willing apprentice.
All beauty must have its imperfections, all happiness its share of sorrow.
I had reached up and pulled the castle of dreams down around him.
Hell is not a place, it's a state of mind and body; hell is obsession with a voice, a face, a name.
Memories are like fireflies darting across the surface of my mind, showing me here and there images so sharp and vivid that I catch my breath in wonder before the vignette disappears, sinking like a pebble into the quicksand of regret and recrimination.
In point of fact I was a perfectly devoted and dutiful little Catholic—until the day I learned that animals have no souls.