The Night Swallowed Him Up Like A

Blue As The Evening Sky, Blue As Cranesbill Flowers, Blue As The Lips Of Drowned Men And The Heart Of A Blaze Burning With Too Hot A Flame. Yes, Sometimes It Was Hot In This World, Too. Hot And Cold, Light And Dark, Terrible And Beautiful, It Was Everything All At Once. It Wasn't True That You Felt Nothing In The Land Of Death. You Felt And Heard And Smelled And Saw, But Your Heart Remained Strangely Calm, As If It Were Resting Before The Dance Began Again. Peace. Was That The Word?

When The Heart Craved Something So Forcefully, Then Reason Became Nothing But Helpless Observer.

A Reader Doesn't Really See The Characters In A Story; He Feels Them.

Isn't It Odd How Much Fatter A Book Gets When You've Read It Several Times?

The Night Belongs To Beasts Of Prey, And Always Has. It's Easy To Forget That When You're Indoors, Protected By Light And Solid Walls.