“A poet is a dethroned king sitting among the ashes of his palace trying to fashion an image out of the ashes.”

“Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.”

“I want the freedom to carve and chisel my own face, to staunch the bleeding with ashes, to fashion my own gods out of my entrails...”

“The first touch of his mouth was gentle, light and sweet.Fun fact, Jared put in, Ash wet the bed until he was five. Kami spluttered out a laugh against Ash's lips.”

“I tried to call your cell phone when we got in to see if you made it."Ash immediately tensed as he put his comic down and pulled out another issue. "I turned it off on the day I got here.""Really?" Dante asked, stunned by Ash's confession. It wasn't like him to be out of touch with his Dark-Hunter charges. "What if one of the Dark-Hunters needed you?"Ash shrugged. "If they can't survive alone for four days once a year, they deserve to die.”

“Out of these ashes beauty will rise.”