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I love you,†I said, causing his face to contort in pain. “I’m not a man so I do not have a heart that loves as a human does. I’m an immortal god that dwells with supreme power because I hold the keys to Death. But you are my existence. I am yours.†Hot tears streamed down my face as I stared into the face of someone who comprehended an emotion much stronger than my weak, feeble words of love.
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I'd walked too close to heaven and gotten a glimpse. The hell I'd lived before her no longer appealed to me.
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Where was the human potential lost? How was it crippled? ...a good question might be not why do people create? But why do people not create or innovate?
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I’m not afraid of anything that might happen to me on this earth, because I know no matter what, nothing can take my spirit from me.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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A Literary Society is the most proper form for the introduction of our Order into any state where we are yet strangers.
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[M]odern society is indeed often, at least in surface appearance, nothing but a collection of strangers, each pursuing his or her own interests under minimal constraints.
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When one is a stranger to oneself, then one is estranged from others, too.
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I don't think being obsessed with sex is any stranger than being obsessed with stamp collecting.
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A place has almost a shyness of a person with strangers; its secret is not to be surprised by too direct interrogation.
