The training of a Mord-Sith takes years - to learn to handle the pain. I guess it's also why only women are Mord-Sith, men are too weak.

I like the smell of film. I just like knowing there&#39;s film going through the camera.

And so the amber hair of Francis Crawford’s father, which all his life had marked him out: for hurt, for passion; for treachery; performed its last destined office in the sunshine and fresh winds of England that morning. A single rider, a sober doublet and cloak might have escaped notice. But not the bare, golden head.

Go mad I cannot: I maintain The perilous outpost of the sane.

Written By Herman Melville

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