Behind every great hatred is a love story. For I am a man who has known and tasted love. I say __ man_ because that is how I know myself. Look at me, and what do you see? Do I not take the form of a man? Do I not feel as you do, suffer as you do, love as you do, mourn as you do? What is the essence of a man, if not these things?

Don't live to be judged for what you haven't done. Live to be judged for what you have done.

Certainly there is life and there is death, but even in death, if we look closely enough, we will find grace.

The dead tread softly... And those stalking the living tread even more lightly.

The restraints were nothing, like paper. The rivets popped from the table and shot across the room. First his arms and then his legs. The room was dark but hid nothing from his eyes, because the darkness was part of him now. And inside him, far down, a great devouring hunger uncoiled itself. To eat the very world. To take it all inside him and be filled by it, made whole. To make the world eternal, as he was.

What strange places our lives can carry us to, what dark passages.