Omnia Mutantur...

Michael Cox


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I had retained little of what is generally called religion, except for a visceral conviction that our lives are controlled by some universal mechanism that is greater than ourselves. Perhaps that was what others called God. Perhaps not.

Michael Cox

Tag: religion



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The summer passed quietly. I busied myself as best I could, reading a good deal.

Michael Cox

Tag: reading books



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After killing the red-haired man, I took myself off to Quinn’s for an oyster supper.

Michael Cox

Tag: murder first-lines fiction gothic opening-sentences



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For Death is the meaning of night;
The eternal shadow
Into which all lives must fall,
All hopes expire.

Michael Cox

Tag: life death despair night hopelessness



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After Killing the red-haired
man, I took myself off to
Quinn’s for an oyster supper…

Michael Cox

Tag: the-meaning-of-night



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The boundaries of this world are forever shifting – from day to night, joy to sorrow, love to hate, and from life itself to death; and who can say at what moment we may suddenly cross over the border, from one state of existence to another, like heat applied to some flammable substance? I have been given my own ever-changing margins, across which I move, continually and hungrily, like a migrating animal. Now civilized, now untamed; now responsive to decency and human concern, now viciously attuned to the darkest of desires.

Michael Cox

Tag: change character definition characteristics boundaries margins alteration



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It is trite to speak of a broken heart. Hearts are not broken; they continue to beat, the blood still courses, even in the bitter after-days of betrayal. but something is broken when pain beyond words is suffered; some connection that formerly existed with light and hope and bright mornings is severed, and can never be restored.

Michael Cox


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But who ever heeds the voice of reason when love whispers, softly persuasive, in the other ear?

Michael Cox


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Trust, but be careful in whom.

Michael Cox


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