The Temptation of Talon
Rain
Oh, young one...
You do entice me so.
Society has not yet touched your chivalry.
And your loneliness is still your only sorrow.
Darkest dream have I; for you.
Give all that I give, and no more
And you; believing to have control...
When all the while I write the lore.
So fresh. So untouched; you are.
And I want to touch you...
I want you pouring out all over me
As young hearts to older things do...
Though young am I in timeless flesh,
As well you should be but a babe...
Four centuries more have I descended
My tears on this earth so vain.
So give your kisses Dark Angel;
Give me your poetry wise...
And I'll never take you for the fool
As you are myself in younger guise.
I do crave your every attention.
Every smile.. every bow.. every kiss...
And when I bend to bite your neck,
No sweeter erotica is more then this.
So come and rest under my wing.
Come taste the death on my tongue.
It is your soul inside my mouth;
The Old devouring the Young.
But should you choose to stay...
I would but place you with the stars.
Your pedestal high; giddy in flight...
I'll give you every asking unharmed.
And would you love me then?
If you have all you've ever asked?
Would that fill you with contentment
After you've given your heart unmasked?
In all future's twists.
In every fate that lures your mind...
Remember only this Immortal's love;
Is not something to be lightly left behind.
Devotion... is all I ask.
The destitute kind love invokes.
Oh, the passion would be furious!
Your divine sobs choking in my throat.
For your heart, I would destroy your pain.
Elimination of the disease!
Save for the immortal distaste
Of life after death's cruel breathing.
Do not let this end here, love.
Do not walk out my window.
... Follow me deeper my Dark Darling.
Through these passage ways of the unknown.
Anticipate it all Dear one.
Touch it yourself as you would in me.
Rest your lusty soul in my palm.
And sleep.. my victim; Sleep.
The Raven
Edgar Allen Poe
One upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "Tapping at my chamber door:
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chambers door:
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door: -
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard the tapping somewhat louder then before.
"Surely," said I, "Surely that is someone at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore;
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, then, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minuted stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of Lord or Lady, perched upon my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,-
"Though thy crest be sworn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though it's answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such a name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till I scarcely more then muttered, - "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled as the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "What it utters is it's only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled as cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl who's firey eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushions velvet lining that lamp light gloated o'er,
But who's velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung my seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forgot this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by Horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore:
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a saintly maiden whom the Angels name Lenore:
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden who the Angels name Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting;
"Get thee back into the tempest of the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak out of my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - Nevermore!
Annabel Lee
Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a Kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you many know
By the name of Annabel Lee;-
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more then love-
I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea).
That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far then the love
Of those who were older then we-
Of many far wiser then we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Alone
Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were- I have not seen
As others saw- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone.
Then- in my childhood- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold-
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by-
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Solitude
Alexander Pope
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide softly away
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
The Highwayman
Alfred Noyes
Part I
The wind was torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding - riding -
The highway man came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were follows of madness, his hair like moldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kisses its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
Part II
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching - marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her feet to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of her finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breath,
She would not risk their hearing: She would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Black and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she draw one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered in the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the Westward; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Now till the dawn her heard it, his face grew gray to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden moon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding - riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
The Tyger
William Blake
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
To Night
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear-
Swift be thy flight!
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
Come, long-sought!
When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flowers and tree,
And the weary day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near why side?
Wouldst thou me? - And I replied,
No, not thee!
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!
On an Infant Dying As Soon As Born
Charles Lamb
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work;
A floweret crush'd in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
Was in her cradle-coffin lying;
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying:
So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb
For the darker closets of the tomb!
She did but ope an eye, and put
A clear beam forth, then straight up shut
For the long dark: ne'er more to see
Through glasses of mortality.
Riddle of destiny, who can show
What why short visit meant, or know
What thy errand here below?
Shall we say that Nature blind
Check'd her hand, and changed her mind,
Just when she had exactly wrought
A finish'd pattern without fault?
Could she flag, or could she tire,
Or lack'd she the Promethean fire
(With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd)
That should they little limbs have quicken'd?
Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure
Life of health, and days mature:
Woman's self in miniature!
Limbs so fair, they might supply
(Themselves now but cold imagery)
The sculptor to make Beauty by.
Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry
That babe or mother, one must die;
So in mercy left the stock
And cut the branch; to save the shock
Of young years widow'd, and pain
When single state comes back again
To the lone man who, reft of wife,
Thenceforward drags a maimèd life?
The economy of Heaven is dark,
And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark,
Why human buds, like this, should fall,
More brief than fly ephemeral
That has his day; while shrivell'd crones
Stiffen with age to stocks and stones;
And crabbèd use the conscience sears
In sinners of a hundred years.
Mother's prattle, mother's kiss,
Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss:
Rites, which custom does impose,
Silver bells, and baby clothes;
Coral redder than those lips
Which pale death did late eclipse;
Music framed for infants' glee,
Whistle never turned for thee;
Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them,
Loving hearts were they which gave them
Let not one be missing; nurse,
See them laid upon the hearse
Of infant slain by doom perverse.
Why should kings and nobles have
Pictured trophies to their grave,
And we, churls, to thee deny
Thy pretty toys with thee to lie-
A more harmless vanity?
He'll Never Know
I love him so,
But he'll never know,
Just why my heart is breaking.
It hurts me so,
That he'll never know,
Just why my soul is aching.
I try not to cry.
I wish I could die.
My pain is overtaking.
I love him so,
And he'll never know,
Just why my life I'm taking.
Quotes and Sayings
All content in this section was gathered and recorded by Heather Chambers
I want to see you dance on the blood dimmed tide. When the ceremony of innocents is drowned. This is the second death. The abominable and the fornicators. This is the second death. You'll have your part in the lake. The great plague in Maratime city. You'll have your part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone.
The French Man.
Millennium.
A Dream is a Answer to a Question that we have yet to Ask.
The Cruelest lies are often told in Silence.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
I am responsible for everything... Except my very responsibility.
Jean-Paul Sarire.
For centuries people have wondered if we could control out lives or if fate has the final say..
I smell blood and an era of prominent madmen.
W.H. Auder.
The Bible says "Judge not least ye be judged.". If we look beyond the weaknesses of those among us we call people, we might find surprising powers buried within..
Though my soul may be set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Anonymous.
I don't want to achieve immortality through my works. I want to achieve it through not dying.
Woody Allen.
Why do we need to belong? Is it for the fellowship of others? Or is it the fear of being left in the cold?
In the void between cradle and grave we travel along it is not the blind and random circumstances of our birth which determine the quality of our journey. That is decided by the choices made along the way.
It is said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It is with these same good intentions that we blindly put our trust in those with power. The architects of our future, and all to often the manipulators of our ultimate fate.
But know ye for certain.. Ye shall surely bring innocent blood upon yourselves and upon this city...
Jeremiah 26:15
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.
Al
Faith.. quenched the violence of fire.
Hebrews 11:34
When we look in a mirror we see a reflection of ourselves, but how much more powerful then this is the reflection we see in the eyes of another. Epically in the eyes of one we hold to be more beautiful then ourselves.
We all wear masks. Illusions of what we want the world to see. But when we hide our true selves from those we love, what price do we pay for that deception?
Jerry Springer (don't laugh <G>)
You remember a single deluge only, but there were many previous ones.
Plato
A man's past is not simply a dead history... It is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.
George Elliot
He said to me in a dreadful voice that I had indeed escaped his clutches, but he would capture me still.
St. Teresa of Avila
Warriors may be forged in the fire of battle, but heros are discovered in the most unlikely of places.
The greatest horror of war is the fateful transformation of our children into heros.
This generation is a wicked generation; it seeks for a sign yet no sign shall be given to it..
Luke 11:29
Dominatio Per Malum
Power Through Evil
You never lose the ones you love if you love the ones you lose.
Believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see.
In the name of the Lords of Darkness, rulers of the earth, kings of the Underworld.. Rise! Rise to this place! Azazel! Know ye all who dwell in the light of professed righteousness, that the others who know the keys and the Angels have opened the gate! (Dominus Vobiscum! Dominus Vobiscum!)
Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now.. until the hour of our death.
In 19 hundred 36, John Fereny laid these bricks. I want to wish you lots of luck, 'cause if your reading this your stuck.
Inscription on the inside of a corner stone.
Everyone brings happiness to a room - Some by coming in and some by going out.
The search for truth is a noble venture. But what happens when that search becomes so obsessive that we no longer find truth, but instead create it?
Thou dost frighten me with dreams and terrify me by visions.
Job 7:14
We have always been fascinated by the prospect of renewal. Built into the fabric of our subconscience is the desire for resurrection, a rebirth of body and soul. A second change.
We live, we die, we live again. If we accept the tenuous fragility of our planet and ourselves, perhaps we can avoid the necessity of rebirth in the distant future. Perhaps we can begin the second dawning of humankind today.
I remember the very things I do not wish to; I cannot forget the things I wish to forget.
Cicero
Oh Lord, if there is a Lord, save my soul, if I have a soul..
Ernest Renan
Heros are remembered, but legends never die.
It is said that through our children we attain a kind of immortality.. A unending chain of life in which mother and child are forever linked, carrying in turn the burden of humanity.
The connections we make in this life are so fragile. A bad word, a wrong glance, and everything changes. Sometimes they can poison life, drive people apart. And sometimes they can bring them back together. Still, life goes on, every day, every way. And there's never enough time.. Unless your brave enough to make it. So maybe that's the secret when you get right down to it -- Treat every day like it was your last.. or your best. Who knows, you might ever find something along the way - A puzzle solved, a mystery revealed.. Or maybe even a voice from your past saying live your life. Maybe.
Jerry Springer (I think)
Every man before he dies shall see the devil.
English Proverb. 1560
We enter this world alone. We leave it pretty much the same way. And in between, a dance we call life. Problem is, it takes two to tango. So we look for signs, something to help us find our perfect partners - A smile, a wave. But we have to be careful, because while some signs can be misinterpreted, others can be missed completely. Some dances you sit out. Others, you change partners. The important thing is you never stop dancing.
Jerry Springer (again)
Paranoia is just a kind of awareness, and awareness is just a form of love.
Charles Manson.
The world is a scary place. Just take a look at the headlines sometimes. You got your serial killers, your flesh-eating viruses, your wild packs of carnivorous coyotes roaming the country side. And that's just for starters. You never know what's going to pop out of the dark.
Man is the cruelest animal.
Nietzche.
And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know.
William Rose Benét
Behold ye scoffers, for I will work wonders in your days which ye will not believe.
Book of Habakkak
You don't understand me. I am beyond your experience, I am beyond good and evil. Lucifer dwells in all of us. Legions of the night, repeat not the errs of the Night Prowler, and show no mercy.
The Nightstalker
Do you ever find yourself talking to the dead? Since Willie's death, I catch myself every day, involuntarily talking with him, as if he was with me.
Abraham Lincoln - upon the death of his son
Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: It's number is 666.
Revelation 17:18
Why should it be thought incredible by you that God raises the dead?
Acts 26:8
Anyone stupid enough to kill themselves over music deserves to die. One less stupid person in the world.
Marilyn Manson
In a world where change is the rule, we rely on the unyielding constants in life for comfort and security - that the sun will rise, and the earth will turn. But what if we could no longer be certain of anything? To what, then, would we cling?
We can never escape the past. No matter how hard we try. Sometimes that past is a friend, sometimes its our own greatest enemy. It can make us heroes, or hunt us down.
You don't need me to tell you again it's a dog-eat-dog world out there these days. Winnings what it's all about. Stay sharp; for every hot shot on the way up, there is one coming down. And the landing is never pretty.
No one likes to admit it. It's a uncomfortable truth - the human race is broadly divided into two categories: The winners and the Losers.
