An Evil For These Times Destined To

When I'm Writing, The Darkness Is Always There. I Go Where The Pain Is.

We Would Make Our Heroes Shallow.... We Would Make Them Brittle. It Is They Who Must Remind Us Of The True Meaning Of Strength.

I Wasn't Sent Here To Find Angels! I Wasn't Sent Here To Dream Of Them. I Wasn't Sent Here To Hear Them Sing! I Was Sent Here To Be Alive. To Breathe And Sweat And Thirst And Sometimes Cry.

You Are Alone When Something Like This Happens. Doesn't Matter How Many People Love You And Want To Help You. You Are Alone. When Marchent Died, She Was Alone.

When We Are Weary, We Speak Lovingly Of Dreams As If They Embodied Our True Deisres-what We Would Have When That Which We Do Have So Sorely Disappoints Us