We’re Too Much Ourselves. Afraid Of Letting

Nothing Else Wounds So Deeply And Irreparably. Nothing Else Robs Us Of Hope So Much As Being Unloved By One We Love

Nothing Ever Begins. There Is No First Moment; No Single Word Or Place From Which This Or Any Story Springs. The Threads Can Always Be Traced Back To Some Earlier Tale, And The Tales That Preceded That; Though As The Narrator's Voice Recedes The Connections Will Seem To Grow More Tenuous, For Each Age Will Want The Tale Told As If It Were Of Its Own Making.

Have Patience; The Lovers Will Suffer Lovers Always Suffer.

I Was Cured In My New Infamy Of All The Tired Wisdom Of Age. I Would Never Weary Into That Tired State Again - -i Swore To Myself, I Would Always Be This Raw, Wet Child Hereafter.

I've Always Thought That Sex And Horror Belonged Together.