Words Are Sexier Than Flesh.

All I Ever Wanted To Do Is Darken The Day And Brighten The Night

Spring, If It Lingers More Than A Week Beyond Its Span, Starts To Hunger For Summer To End The Days Of Perpetual Promise. Summer In Its Turn Soon Begins To Sweat For Something To Quench Its Heat, And The Mellowest Of Autumns Will Tire Of Gentility At Last, And Ache For A Quick Sharp Frost To Kill Its Fruitfulness. Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

Horror Fiction Shows Us That The Control We Believe We Have Is Purely Illusory, And That Every Moment We Teeter On Chaos And Oblivion.

Of All The Rash And Midnight Promises Made In The Name Of Love, None, Boone Now Knew, Was More Certain To Be Broken Than "i'll Never Leave You.