A Perfectly Evil Devil Makes Even Less

It Seems An Insult To The Night To Speak Of Purpose And Intent, When This Common Moment Is So Brimming Full Of Blessed Design Tranquility. All Things Follow Their Course.

Who Knew That Better Than I, Who Had Presided Over The Death Of My Own Body, Seeing All I Called Human Wither And Die Only To Form An Unbreakable Chain Which Held Me Fast To This World Yet Made Me Forever Its Exile, A Specter With A Beating Heart?

I Do Not Allow Fan-fiction. The Characters Are Copyrighted. It Upsets Me Terribly To Even Think About Fan-fiction With My Characters. I Advise My Readers To Write Your Own Original Stories With Your Own Characters. It Is Absolutely Essential That You Respect My Wishes.

In Spite Of All The Refinements Of Civilization That Conspired To Make Art--the Dizzying Perfection Of The String Quartet Or The Sprawling Grandeur Of Fragonard's Canvases--beauty Was Savage. It Was As Dangerous And Lawless As The Earth Had Been Eons Before Man Had One Single Coherent Thought In His Head Or Wrote Codes Of Conduct On Tablets Of Clay. Beauty Was A Savage Garden.

You Make Me Miserable. You Really Do, I Want You To Know That. Much As I Love You, Much As I Need You, Much As I Can't Exist Without You, You Make Me Miserable.