Sus gritos resonaban en las paredes de aquella casa, en la que ahora solo la muerte vivía y andaba. Con los ojos desorbitados, la cara lívida, el pelo erizado, Louis gritaba. Los sonidos que salían de su garganta congestionada eran como las campanas del infierno, unos gritos terribles que marcaban la pérdida no del amor, sino de la razón.

Del who had asked us to take care of Mr. Jingles, to make sure the bad 'un wouldn't hurt him anymore. Except the bad 'un hurts us all in the end, doesn't he?

He was a Saint Bernard in his prime, five years old, nearly two hundred pounds in weight, and now, on the morning of June 16, 1980, he was pre-rabid.

Cats are the gangsters of the animal world, living outside the law and often dying there

At night, when i go to bed i still am at pains to be sure that my legs are under the blankets after the lights go out. I am not a child anymore but .. Because if a cool hand ever reached out from under the bed and grasped my ankle, i might scream.

For aren't memories the true ghosts of our lives?

Instead of being dark, they have their own terrible brilliance, and none shine so bright as the acts of cruelty we sometimes perpetrate in our own families. To look directly at such brilliance is to be blinded, and so we create any number of filters.

هــر داســــتــان واقــعــیــتــی اســـت کــه در درون دروغـی نــهــفــتــه اســـت.

I don't think there's anything sweeter on God's green earth than scaring the living shit out of people.