No Tears, Please. It's A Waste Of

She's...just A Girl, You Know. Like Most Girls: Something And Nothing.

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.

At Best You Can Hold Death At Bay, You Can Pretend It Isn't There; But To Deny It Totally Is A Sickness. And I Think That Horror Fiction Is One Of The Ways To Approach These Problems, And, Perversely Perhaps, To Enjoy A Vicarious Confrontation With Them.

Midian Is Where The Monsters Go.

One Part Of Love Is Innocence One Part Of Love Is Guilt One Part The Milk That In A Sense Is Soured As Soon As Spilt One Part Of Love Is Sentiment One Part Of Love Is Lust One Part Is The Presentiment Of Our Return To Dust