I found a brief piece of by Antonio Vivaldi around this time which became my ‘Pinhead Mood Music’. Called Al Santo Sepolcro (At The Holy Sepulchre), it opens more like a piece of modern orchestral...

I didn’t read the book. I burned it after the first sentence.

Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love

The moon had risen behind him, the color of a shark’s underbelly. It lit the ruined walls, and the skin of his arms and hands, with its sickly light, making him long for a mirror...

The flawlessly beautiful were flawlessy happy, weren’t they? To Kristy this had always seemed self-evident. Tonight, however, the alcohol made her wonder if envy hadn’t blinded her. Perhaps to be flawless was another kind of...

That’s half of your trouble,” muttered the crocodile. “You believe everything’s true.””That’s because everything is,” replied Mr. Bacchus.

Kaufman almost smiled at the perfection of its horror. He felt an offer of insanity tickling the base of his skull, tempting him into oblivion, promising a blank indifference to the world.

The dead have highways.” Clive Barker