... What I Fear In Writing Is

Suffering Of Sentient Beings Is Like Decay; It Fertilizes The Growth Of Their Souls.

Mortal Beauty Often Makes Me Ache, And Mortal Grandeur Can Fill Me With That Longing...but Paris, Paris Drew Me Close To Her Heart, So I Forgot Myself Entirely. Forgot The Damned And Questing Preternatural Thing That Doted On Mortal Skin And Mortal Clothing. Paris Overwhelmed, And Lightened And Rewarded More Richly Than Any Promise.

But Death We Are, And Death We've Always Been.

To Learn And To Love, That Is What We Are Here For, Any Activity Which Is Not Grounded In One Of These Two Is A Waste Of Time.

My Last Sunrise. That Morning, I Was Not Yet A Vampire. And I Saw My Last Sunrise. I Remember It Completely; Yet I Do Not Think I Remember Any Other Sunrise Before It.