I Have Nothing To Say For Myself,

Horror Was Rooted In Sympathy . . . In Understanding What It Would Be Like To Suffer The Worst.

He Understood That The Ghost Existed First And Foremost Within His Own Head. That Maybe Ghosts Always Haunted Minds, Not Places. If He Wanted To Take A Shot At It, He’d Have To Turn The Barrel Against His Own Temple.

What A Blessed If Painful Thing, This Business Of Being Alive.

You Think You Know Someone. But Mostly You Just Know What You Want To Know.

Her Sanity Was A Fragile Thing, A Butterfly Cupped In Her Hands, That She Carried With Her Everywhere, Afraid Of What Would Happen If She Let It Go-or Got Careless And Crushed It.