Writing About The Unholy Is One Way

There’s No Conscious Thing On The Face Of The World That Doesn’t Know Dread More Intimately Than Its Own Heartbeat.

My Life Is In The Art That I Make, And I'm Very Happy With It.

Why'd You Want To Sing About Sad Things?" Candy Had Asked Him. "because Any Fool Can Be Happy," He'd Said To Her. "it Takes A Man With Real Heart" —he'd Made A Fist And Laid It Against His Chest— "to Make Beauty Out Of The Stuff That Makes Us Weep.

We're Both Thieves, Harvey Swick. I Take Time. You Take Lives. But In The End We're The Same: Both Thieves Of Always.

How Many Human Eyes...had Snatched Glimpses Of Their Secret Anatomies, Down The Passage Of Years?