Heart-Shaped Box

Jude didn’t care what was reasonable. He wasn’t a reasonable man. He only cared what was true.

HOW MAY THE DEAD HAVE DESTINATIONS?
—Alan Moore, Voice of the Fire

“All the world is made of music. We are all strings on a lyre. We resonate. We sing together.

Wherever did that boy go, the one who smiled on the elephant ride?”
“He starved to death. I’m his ghost.”

The afternoon light was strange, a dim, poisonous red, a stormy twilight color. It was the same color Jude saw when he shut his eyes, the color of his headache

You spent three days livin’ like a dog, and now you have to die like one

At the sight of her, Jude felt an almost overwhelming throb of emotion: shock and loss and adoration all together. He could hardly bear to feel so much at once.

It was hard to live the outlaw life when you were famous.

Because the dead pull the living down.

The right words have a charge in them. Enough charge to bring the dead back to the living.”