# data[].attributes.body
Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.

# data[].attributes.body
Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood. Blood screaming inside you to work it’s will.

# data[].attributes.body
You’ll never grow old, Michael. And you’ll never die. But you must feed

# data[].attributes.body
Listen to them- the children of the night, what music they make