..she Had That Brand Of Pragmatism That

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.

She Was A Sea: And I Had To Swim In Her.

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.

We're Both Thieves, Harvey Swick. I Take Time. You Take Lives. But In The End We're The Same: Both Thieves Of Always.

You Just Have To Trust Your Own Madness.