What__ the old saying? Ah, I remember now. __uriosity flayed the cat alive, ripped it apart limb from limb, and listened to it scream before it killed it._ That__ the one.

The dead pull the living down.

To feel our character, our personality, and our personal, hard-won history fade from being is to be exposed to whatever lies beneath these comforting, operational conveniences. What remains when the conscious and functioning self has been erased is mankind's fundamental condition _ irrational, violent, guilt-wracked, despairing, and mad.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks_damsels.

(there is) no other means of escaping from one's consciousness than to deny it, to look upon it as an organic disease of the terrestrial intelligence - a disease which we must endeavor to cure by an action which must appear to us an action of violent and willful madness, but which, on the other side of our appearances, is probably an action of health. ("Of Immortality")

There would be no salvaging this. I was going to die a spinster with cobwebs feasting on my vagina, I just knew it.