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“THE AMERICAN WAY OF LIFE. Even what they eat and drink, these palefaces who don't know what wine istheir uglinesstheir pink sausage skin, horrible, they only live because there is penicillin,... the world as an Americanized vacuumtheir fake health, their fake youthfulnessthe way they use cosmetics even on corpses, their whole pornographic attitude to death.”

“Drink water, drink tea. I find that if I drink tea I can make myself think that it's something special, because you know how you just really want a glass of wine at the end of the day? So sometimes I can really want a glass of wine but talk myself into believing that tea is as nice, and that's one thing to do to be nice to your skin. Actually, two things: you're not have the wine and you're drinking water. Also just working out. All the things you do to be healthy in your life help your skin.”

“What I always look for is someone that really knew how to lean up against a bar, get a drink, sit on a barstool. When people are in bars they're relaxed. No real right angles - it's slow moves, it's slow conversations. You can tell a loud joke, but everyone's very relaxed. I never would pick somebody nervous or twitchy. If I found guys with beards, I'd ask them, don't trim the edges, don't go in and manicure yourself up. I always look for people that look like they're comfortable in their own skin, that wouldn't feel like it was the first time they were ever in a bar.”

“I stay out of the sun, and if I'm in the sun, I'm wearing SPF. I protect my skin as much as I can; I learned that a long time ago. I also exercise every day and I get the endorphins going. It's important not only for my physical self but also for my mental self and my emotional self. I'm healthy, I eat well most of the time, I take care of myself and I drink a lot of water. But I also enjoy myself. Taking care of yourself doesn't have to be painful, it's about finding the right balance, I think.”

“I have terrible nightmares, you know. Every night when I come home from a long day’s dying, I take off my skin and lay it nicely on my armoire. I take off my bones and hang them up on the hatstand. I set my scythe to washing on the old stove. I eat a nice supper of mouse-and-myrrh soup. Some nights I drink off a nice red wine. White does not agree with me. I lay myself down on a bed of lilies and still, I cannot sleep.”

“His touch both consoles and devastates me; I feel my heart pulse, then wither, naked as a stone on the roaring mattress while the lovely, moony night slides through the window to dapple the flanks of this innocent who makes cages to keep the sweet birds in. Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden, I go back and back to him to have his fingers strip the tattered skin away and clothe me in his dress of water, this garment that drenches me, its slithering odour, its capacity for drowning.”