It’s true:
I almost never smile, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in love: my heart is that black violin played slowly. You know that moment late in the solo when the voice is so pure you feel the blood in it: the wound between rage and complete surrender. That’s where I’m smiling. You just can’t see it—the sound bleeding perfectly inside me.

The first time I killed a vampire I was sad: I mean we were almost family. But that’s so many lives ago. I believe in the cry that cuts into the melody, the strings calling back the forgotten world. When I think of the madness that has made me and the midnight I walk inside—all day long: when I think of that one note that breaks what’s left of what’s human in me, man, I love everything