"Why should Death lurk in the shadows? Why should Death wait at the gate? There is no bedchamber, no ballroom that I cannot enter. Death in the glow of the hearth, Death on tiptoe in the corridor, that is what I am. Speak to me of the Dark Gifts—I use them. I’m Gentleman Death in silk and lace, come to put out the candles. The canker in the heart of the rose."
I often sit and ponder about the end of the world, turning over scenarios in my head.
Did the Mayans have it right?
Or did one of their arms get tired?
"Do you think we went far enough? Maybe we should just stop here."
They never would’ve known that it would be such a big deal centuries down the road.