Thomm Quackenbush

He never thought he was right. The horror of all that had died under his will had become mundane to him. You see, the first horror is the horror itself. The real horror for him was accepting it as necessary.

Though denigrated by some outside academia and research, she embraced knowledge for its own sake and what better way to honor that than reveling in the intricacies of the brain? If there were any answers to the human condition, if an immortal soul made its home anywhere, it was in its spongy gray folds.

You can__ exist on this plane for long purely one thing or another. A totally evil creature is so destructive that it obliterates itself. A totally good one_ the same. So, we mix a bit of coffee with our cream.

Do you know the amount of evil done by well-meaning humans? Oodles. Do you know the amount done by ill-meaning devils? Infinitesimal.

If psychics are real, it implies that the universe is far vaster and stranger than conventional perception would state. If psychics can talk to the dead, that removes the sting of mortality and loss. It also suggests there is predestination, a way to cheat the vagaries of Fate with foreknowledge. The cost for believing in them is tiny indeed compared to that.

She could never understand why creatures of darkness had the slightest interest in spineless human girls.

I have heard that Paganism is for broken people, but life cracks everyone in some way. We are a religion of healing people.

Her beauty was enough to get her into most any situation she desired and her tongue__harp and venomous__as enough to get her out again.

Do you want me because you love me or because I provide you normality drag?

As a man, I was a failure. A pathetic teacher lusting after Catholic school girls in short skirts. As a monster, I'm superb. It's comforting to know my place in the world.

She was not suicidal; that is what people never managed to grasp. Cutting relieved the pressure and stood as some enduring demonstration of her emotion, some way to be in control of a body that could toss her about with seizures. It was borderline artistic to mark her body, chiaroscuro designs in blood. Dying is the last thing she would want, like any healthy organism. A little pain, a small invoked sting trailing her arm, brought her much closer to grounded when she could not keep her head from racing, her thoughts from consuming her with obsession. An ounce of liquid weight loss and she could go back to being herself again. Usually.

We're all suicides. The tragedy is every day that we don't die.

Trying to destroy yourself gives a pretty clear message and it's not one I think you'd like. Sounds a bit like, __'m too self-centered to be constructive, so I have to open a vein_

Isn't watching sacred potential kill itself as good a punishment as eternal fire?

Ethically, she couldn't cause the suffering of any living thing. Logically, bacon cheeseburgers were delicious.

None of us just pop into the world fully formed, so it's the little facts that make us.

They act as if their religion were a celestial gumball machine, taking no blame for personal failures because they won't manifest their will in the real world by working for their goals.

To her, it was like asking a butterfly what it remembered about being a caterpillar. She could fly now and nothing could touch her when she left the cocoon of her body behind at night.