It's very selfish when I write. I'm not aware, ever, of writing for another person; I'm not even really aware of writing for myself.

When I am fascinated by something, I like to play with it.

If they had said my writing wasn't good enough, fair enough, that's an opinion. But to say it's too complex is to insult the intelligence of the so-called young.

Hope is a punishable offense. The verdict is always death; one more death of the heart.

What is any of this to us? Time is endless and ours. Love and Death are only the games we play in it.

She could not mourn. She could no longer weep grasping the essence of annihilation, she wished only to cease, to be no more, as if sunk in some profound sleep devoid of wakening.

There was no violence, no speed. It moved to the rhythm of an elder dance, putting all the rituals of the world to shame. Black, silver, gold and moon-opal, night and sea, fire, earth, air and water.