I really believe that there is an enormous appetite amongst readers for an originality of vision. In other words, be true to your own dreams and there will always be people who want to hear them.
Hell was easy; romance was hard.
You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.
It was that sleep itself—the act of closing the eyes and relinquishing control of her consciousness—was something she was temperamentally unsuited to.
Men. Young men. Legal age, mind you. But young nonetheless. And it's not what you think. When we meet, we make … magic.
There is no delight the equal of dread.
Of all the rash and midnight promises made in the name of love, none, Boone now knew, was more certain to be broken than I'll never leave you.
We all count the hours. We all look for completion, even if we fear it. We long to be consumed. I long to be consumed.
What worth was a man who could not be haunted?
I have such sights to show you. Soon, you will have answers to questions you have never even dared to ask.
Especially politics; that was the best trough to wallow in. You could get your snout, eyes, head and front hooves in that mess of muck and have a fine old time splashing around. It was an inexhaustible subject to devour, a swill with a little of everything in it, because everything, according to Judd, was political.
Have patience; the lovers will suffer lovers always suffer.
Walk with care in dark places, and do not put your faith in anyone who promises you the forgiveness of the Lord or a certain place in Paradise.
The extraordinary's the norm.
Behind their eyes the hope was sickening and in many, dead. They lived from event to event with a subtle terror of the gap between, filling up their lives with distractions to avoid the emptiness where curiosity should have been.
Perhaps a wiser eye than hers would be able to read tomorrow in tonight's stars, but where was the fun in that? It was better not to know. Better to be alive in the Here and the Now--in this bright, laughing moment--and let the Hours to come take care of themselves.
I will treat you with my knife the way you've treated my pages with your merciless eyes. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.
Let's prioritise here. At the risk of stating the obvious, this isn't going to be easy. We need to find Norma as fast as we can, avoid the powerful demon that wants me as his slave, and then get the fuck out of Hell. I'm sure we'll encounter some heinous, unthinkable, soul-scarring shit along the way, but hopefully we make it out alive.
It is great good health to believe, as the Hindus do, that there are 33 million gods and goddesses in the world. It is great good health to want to understand one's dreams. It is great good health to desire the ambiguous and paradoxical.
He liked the phrase mother's tit. It said so much, so simply. Momma's tit had a good deal more power to move these men than her apple pie.
Can you hear me, Todd? There's an ambulance on its way. For a moment his eyes opened a little wider, and he seemed to be making an effort to concentrate on the face in front of him. It's Maxine, she said. Remember me?
I haven't even had a life I could call my own, and you're ready to slot me into the grand design. Well, I don't think I want to go. I want to be my own design.
Welcome to the worst nightmare of all, reality!
No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering.
She had that brand of pragmatism that would find her the first brewing tea after Armageddon.
Some people think that horror films are some sort of second class filmmaking, and the only way to bypass that thinking is being proud of the fact that we do it.
My grandfather was a ship's cook, and he came back from the Far East very often with strange little toys. One of the things he brought back was a puzzle box, which obsessed me for a long time.
Only once did Lori glimpse such an entity, supine on a mattress in the corner of its boudoir. It was naked, corpulent and sexless, its sagging body a motley of dark, oily skin and larval eruptions that seeped phosphorescence, soaking its simple bed.
Ricky tasted something he hadn't experienced since childhood: the panic of losing the hand of a guardian. In this case the lost parent was his sanity. Somewhere.
You've got blood on your hands, and you smell of coitus.
We're both thieves, Harvey Swick. I take time. You take lives. But in the end we're the same: both Thieves of Always.
No. No, I'm not. Then she said: I'm somebody else. I just don't know who that somebody else is yet. Well that's what journeys are for, Diamanda Murkitt said.
Let the mad find wisdom in their madness for the sane, and let the sane be grateful.
You're right, of course. I haven't come this far to deliver us into oblivion. I have such sights to show you. Soon, you will have answers to questions you have never even dared to ask.
Books are like people, when they are open they are red.
There was no harm done; and what would a Resurrection be without a few laughs?
Fear gripped Harry, like some old dope-pusher promising a terrible high.
And with that comprehension, so unlike the simplifications she'd been ruled by hitherto, she became even more certain that the carpet they carried was a last hope, while he — whose home the Weave contained — seemed increasingly indifferent to its fate, living in the moment and for the moment, touched scarcely at all by hope or regret.
This was the substance of every moment, she realized: the body - never certain if the next lungful would be its last - hovering for a tiny time between cessation and continuance. And in that space out of time, between a breath expelled and another drawn, the miraculous was easy, because neither flesh nor reason has laid their edicts there.
Life was not a reversible commodity. Things passed away, never to return: species, hopes, years.
Whatever capacity she possesses to supernaturally beguile a human soul—and she possesses many—she liked his clear-sightedness too well, to blind him that way.
Indifference was the best remedy. Once you conceded defeat, life was a feather bed.
Meaning is always a latecomer. Beauty and music seduce us first; later ashamed of our own sensuality, we insist on meaning.
Only when they have outrun the all-too-eager shadows of the Canyon and they are back in the glare of the billboards on Sunset Boulevard, do they wipe their clammy palms, and wonder to themselves how it was that in such a harmless.
There's nothing heroic about sacrificing yourself for him, Zeffer pointed out. He wouldn't do it for you. I know that.
I've got deeper journeys to take. Metaphysical journeys. Journeys to see Christ. Shaman journeys. It's what I've been elected by God to do.
Well, I am denying it. You think the world revolves around sex. It's pathetic.
Where else can bubble-gum hearts, the dream travellers, the serial killers, and the occasional guest-star from beyond the grave occupy the same space?
