“My whole life is a dark room. One big dark room.”

Sandworms…you know I hate ’em!

I wonder where a guy, an everyday Joe like myself can find a little action.

These aren’t my rules. Come to think of it. I don’t have any rules.

Well, I’ve read through that handbook for the recently deceased. It says, ‘live people ignore the strange and unusual. I, myself, am strange and unusual.

As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn’t stop.

It is interesting to note that the best periods of Italian Horror films came out of the Sixties, when Italy was enjoying a carnival period of phenomenal optimism, and the shadowy side surfaced with all of its attendant dark, beautiful, baroque, catholic symbolism.

When was it I realized that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely. Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time.

This is how moths speak to each other. They tell their love across the fields by scent. There is no mouth, the wrong words are impossible, either a mate is there or he is not, and if so the pair will find each other in the dark.

And yet his greatest desire was the simple warmth of love’s fire, cause it’s cold on the dark side of fame.

The more closely the author thinks of why he wrote, the more he comes to regard his imagination as a kind of self-generating cement which glued his facts together, and his emotions as a kind of dark and obscure designer of those facts.

We’re each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.