Everybody Is A Book Of Blood; Wherever

Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

O Little One, My Little One, Come With Me, Your Life Is Done. Forget The Future, Forget The Past. Life Is Over: Breathe Your Last.

But I Think Humans Are Innately Religious As A Species, So You Don't Need A Specific Excuse For Examining The Perversely Unholy.

Make Your Own Worlds. Make Your Own Laws. Make Your Own Creations, Your Own Star Systems. Don't Feel Answerable To Anyone, Or As Though You Have To Create After Some Preordained Model. You Don't Have To Write Like Myself, Or King Or Anne Rice: Be Yourself. Nothing Is More Wonderful Than Discovering A New Voice, Particularly If It Happens To Be Your Own.

Richard Christian Matheson Is A Master Of Compression. He Knows How To Catch A Moment In Words And Convey It Straight To The Reader's Heart.