I Broke With My Religion In College.

I Don't Know Why One Author Writes Westerns While Another Writes Detective Novels. You Don't Know Why. You Go Where The Intensity Is. I Feel Most Comfortable Writing About Monsters. It's Possible That I Feel Like A Monster Myself. Or Maybe It's Because We All Have A Monster Inside Of Us, A Vampire, A Ghost, A Witch Or A Werewolf. You Do It Because It Works And It Feels Really Right And Authentic.

And He Would Listen, Making Only A Few Comments, Always Sympathetic, So That When I Left Him I Had The Distinct Impression He Had Solved Everything For Me.

Heaven Would Be Hell In No Time If Every Cruel, Selfish, Vicious Soul Went To Heaven.

Don't You See? I'm Not The Spirit Of Any Age. I'm At Odds With Everything And Always Have Been! I Have Never Belonged Anywhere With Anyone At Any Time!

Mortal Beauty Often Makes Me Ache, And Mortal Grandeur Can Fill Me With That Longing...but Paris, Paris Drew Me Close To Her Heart, So I Forgot Myself Entirely. Forgot The Damned And Questing Preternatural Thing That Doted On Mortal Skin And Mortal Clothing. Paris Overwhelmed, And Lightened And Rewarded More Richly Than Any Promise.