You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.
Everybody is equally weak on the inside, just that some present their ruins as new castles and become kings –
Strength and victory… What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.
I always am in a role, lovely – for you, for them – even for myself. Yeah… Even when I’m alone, I am still in a role – and I myself am the most exacting audience I have ever had.
Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –
Even I don’t know myself… In fact, I don’t know if I really have a self at all, as I’m constantly playing different roles and pretending – not so much on stage as in real life…
Emotions don’t interfere in my acting, nor in my life.
So, apart from casting runes, what other hobbies do you have? Forbidden rituals, human sacrifices, torturing? –
I was never able to accept anyone else’s support but my own –
A good enemy can be better than the best of friend.
You can speak to me like you haven’t spoken even to yourself.
I’d love to try to tame you… And I would simply adore it if you turn out untamable –
And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?
You kissed me once and now you feel as if you’ve got some special kind of licence to do it whenever you want?
Don’t you have dragons to fight so that you started saving girls who don’t need it?
My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave… Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.
Paranoia. The more you think of an imaginary problem, the more you feel as though it’s real –
And I wasn’t playing a role – I was trying to be myself.But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that ‘myself’ somewhere between two perfectly performed roles…
The utter unbroken silence was more appalling than any ominous noise, than the loudest yells of anguish, than the most piercing screaming…Dead silence.Literally dead.
I was beginning to agree with the thesis that some truths were better off dead.And buried.
His character would be blamed, loathed, discussed, and adored – but somewhere there, behind his mask of a hero, Cardew would remain faceless.Anonymous.
The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.
I can be anything – and nothing, and everything at the same time. It all depends on the role I am in.