Passion will undo the best of us and lead only to tragedy. It’s ever thus for those who care so deeply.
None of us are heroes.
No matter the language, the drama always ends the same way. The curtain falls on a stage bedecked with bodies and there is nothing but silence. And death holds all dominion.
Nature is to be hunted.
Kneel, child. You will be flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.
It is too easy being monsters. Let us try to be human.
In the end, we must be that thing the world demands of us. We must take the lust and the avarice and the ambition and bury them. All the alien, ugly things! All the things we really are!
I have been touched by Satan. My weakness allowed it. My faith was not strong enough and Lucifer came to me. I didn’t fight him strongly enough. I don’t know that I fought him at all.
I annihilated a tribe. I betrayed my family. I slaughtered women and children, and murdered my friend, and I will send my father to hell, and laugh while I do it. I’m done trying to be good.
I am nothing. I am no more than a blade of grass. But I am. You think you know evil? Here it stands.
Hunting a man is no great thing. They are slow and predictable. They can be found always where their appetites lead them. To eat, to sleep, to f***. Man is no great thing.
Graves will overflow. The rivers will run with blood. And darkness will consume the earth. Only one man can stop this.
