Its speaks to us, guides us. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, and 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 dark.
Nothing can change that.
Not even death. I've never been anything else. It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man. You're not friends.