Don't dance with the devil on your back

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

                            And I've been a fool and I've been blind

                                        I can never leave the past behind            

                                   I can see no way, I can see no way

                              I'm always dragging that horse around

                      All of his questions, such a mournful sound

          But tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right up my throat

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

                            And I am done with my graceless heart

                 So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

                               Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

                                   It's always darkest before the dawn

I am my literary DNA

“Books help to form us. If you cut me open, you will find volume after volume, page after page, the contents of every one I have ever read, somehow transmuted and transformed into me. Alice in Wonderland. the Magic Faraway Tree. The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Book of Job. Bleak House. Wuthering Heights. The Complete Poems of W H Auden. The Tale of Mr Tod. Howard''s End. What a strange person I must be. But if the books I have read have helped to form me, then probably nobody else who ever lived has read exactly the same books, all the same books and only the same books as me. So just as my genes and the soul within me make me uniquely me, so I am the unique sum of the books I have read. I am my literary DNA.”

Susan Hill

The Soul of a Writer

 “A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.”

The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafón