“Reason itself is fallible, and this fallibility must find a place in our logic.”

“I'm looking for a place to hide and wilt in peace.”

“The idea of the family as a protective haven is a myth, the family unit cannot provide the haven it promises. On the contrary, we can never isolate ourselves from social and political relationships in the world. The places we choose to hide are alawys inseparably connected to the real world, the world they actually might encounter in school, and for some, in neighborhoods. It is not the failure, or the breakdown, of the family which causes our alienation, but the ever-disappointed hopes instilled in us as children. These hopes are false dreams of being cocooned and of belonging.”

“I dreamed I saw you dead in a place by the water. A ravaged place. All flat and empty and wide open. And you were covered in some kind of binding. Like a mummy. Something white and reflective, from head to toe. And the light shone on you. Oh, how it shone on you! It glanced off you, and it was like a pure, bright silver. The wind was singing. It sang: you have suffered enough. You have suffered enough. Then death came and he kissed you. Lightly. Gently. Upon the lips. There is nothing beyond, he whispered, only me, only me. There is nothing beyond. Only me.”

“And it was that self-same summer—June 5th, if precision is your watchword—that I first set eyes on a stringy southern hemisphere home-boy, a man-boy, a prankish puck by the name of La Roux (with very bad skin and even worse instincts), who sailed into the slow-beating heart of our half-arsed, high-strung, low-bred family, then casually capsized himself, but left us all drowning (now they don’t teach you that at the Sea Scouts, do they?).”

“Last WillPrologue:We, Sacco and Vanzetti, sound of body and mind,Devise and bequeath to all we leave behind,The worldly wealth we inherited at our birth,Each one to share alike as we leave this earth.To Wit:To babies we will their mothers’ love,To youngsters we will the sun above.To spooners who wont to tryst the night,We give the moon and stars that shine so bright.To thrill them in their hours of joy,When boy hugs maid and maid hugs boy.To nature’s creatures we allot the spring and summer,To the doe, the bear, the gold-finch and the hummer.To the fishes we ascribe the deep blue sea,The honey we apportion to the bustling bee.To the pessimist—good cheer—his mind to sooth,To the chronic liar we donate the solemn truth.And Lastly:To those who judge solely seeking renown,With blaring trumpets of the fakir and clown;To the prosecutor, persecutor, and other human hounds,Who’d barter another’s honor, recognizing no bounds,To the Governor, the Jury, who another’s life they’d sell—We endow them with the fiery depths of HELL!(Industrial Worker, Aug. 20, 1927)”

“You may not be aware, ma douce, but not all vampyre have a kindred, some will live out their existence without such beauty in their lives. I have waited five hundred years for you.”