'The devil's everywhere,' he said. 'Not just at Brunswick one day and somewhere else the next. He's everywhere.'

'Crap,' said Janet. 'He was a whinger and he wrote it down. That's not poetry.'

The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention but the fulfilment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall.

Ideas came swarming through her, and like many people who labour in the obsession of solitude, she lacked the detachment to challenge them.

Guard thee from the power of evil; Who cannot trust, vows to the devil.

I'm Ted Bell. And you go straight to the place where the Devil lives and has sex and makes little Devils.

When Marilyn Monroe got out of the game, I wrote something like, 'Southern California's special horror notwithstanding, if the world offered nothing, nowhere t…