When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you’ve done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?
It would require a singularly stupid man to go hang around in narrow tunnels and cramped spaces alongside a threat like that. “And I, Harry Dresden, am that man,” I stated.
The past was gone. Nothing could change what had already been. Looking back at it, letting its wounds fester, indulging in regret was just a different, slower way to die. The living moved forward.
Your face looks like a sack of purple potatoes.
I just stood there staring, because while I’ve seen a lot of weird things, I hadn’t ever seen that.
Living was a dangerous past-time, and often quite painful – but there was also such joy in living, such beauty, things that one would otherwise never see, never experience, never know. The risk of pain and loss was a part of living.
When a young writer comes up to me with an ambitious idea for a 20-book series, I usually tell him to maybe try something smaller to start off with.
My brief flash of relief and confidence melted away. Good thing it did, too. I’m sure the world would come to an end if I were allowed to feel a sense of relief and well-being for any length of time.
The next time you interfere with me, more than smoke will interfere with you.
So there I was being strangled by a ranting, half-naked madman in the middle of the woods, with a she-werewolf dangling from a rope snare somewhere nearby.
Seedy wasn’t a fair description for the place, because seeds imply eventual regrowth and renewal.
Discretion is the better part of not getting exsanguinated.
I brought the Beetle to life with a roar. Well. Not really a roar. A Volkswagen Bug doesn’t roar. But it sort of growled...
The mad rarely know that they are mad. It’s the rest of the world, I think, that seems insane to them.
I would hit you on the head with a rock and drag you away from this. But it would only shatter the rock.
My friend is going to save a little girl from monsters. I am going with him. That’s what friends do.
Ease off the martyr throttle.
Discussing a problem with yourself is almost never a good way to secure a divergent viewpoint.
Hers was a beauty so pure that it was nearly painful to behold – Athena heading out on a Friday night.
It doesn’t make you a monster to want, she said, her voice very gentle. It’s what you do with it that matters.