You Look Good To Me, You Damnable

Curses Of Vanished Elders Echoed Down On Me; Too Pretty, Too Soft, Too Pale, Eyes Far Too Full Of The Devil, Ah, That Devilish Smile

And So This Young One, This Young One Whom I Had So Loved, I Had To Forsake, No Matter How Broken My Heart, No Matter How Lonely My Soul, No Matter How Bruised My Intellect And Spirit.

Believe In Angels? Then Believe In Vampires. Believe In Me. There Are Worse Things On Earth.

I Can’t Help Being A Gorgeous Fiend. It’s Just The Card I Drew.

Writers Write About What Obsesses Them. You Draw Those Cards. I Lost My Mother When I Was 14. My Daughter Died At The Age Of 6. I Lost My Faith As A Catholic. When I'm Writing, The Darkness Is Always There. I Go Where The Pain Is.