Dish best served cold,” said Nehemiah Trot. “Do not take revenge in the heat of the moment. Instead, wait until the hour is propitious.
You might not have seen a pale, plump woman, who walked the path near the front gates, and if you had seen her, with a second, more careful glance you would have realized that she was only moonlight, mist, and shadow.
She would be quite bright, if she was ever put in a position to find out, but long ago found that being a scatterbrain, as she’d put it, give you an easier journey through life.
You don’t ask any questions. You don’t get any answers. You don’t stray from the path. You don’t even think about what’s happening to you right now. Got it?
Henry was diabetic,” continued Whiskey Jack. “It happens. Too much. You people came to America, you take our sugar cane, potatoes, and corn, then you sell us potato chips and caramel popcorn, and we’re the ones who get sick.
I wanted stories, and I wanted them always, and I wanted the experience that only fiction could give me: I wanted to be inside them.
As we get older, each thing we do, each thing we write reminds us of something else we’ve done. Events rhyme. Nothing quite happens for the first time any more.
If you’re doing it right... you should feel while you’re doing it that you’re revealing a little too much of yourself.
They always scream when the eyeballs fall out.
I hope you know what you are doing.” “Of course I do,” said Thor. But he didn’t. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best. In.
Don’t be a moronic lump of blubbering, quaking, pathetic lard.
Our existence deforms the universe. That’s responsibility.
He fell for a hundred years into darkness.
I made friends slowly, when I made them.
I was sad that nobody had come to my party, but happy that I had a Batman figure, and there was a birthday present waiting to be read, a boxed set of the Narnia books, which I took upstairs. I lay on the bed and lost myself in the stories. I liked that. Books were safer than other people anyway.
You are mortal: it is the mortal way. You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life.
Loki was there. He drank too much of Aegir’s ale, drank himself beyond joy and laughter and trickery and into a brooding darkness.
I think you’re very nice. I think twinkle’s a nice word. So’s viridian. I met a lady once who had an imaginary fish.
Tristan and Yvaine were happy together. Not forever-after, for Time, the thief, eventually takes all things into his dusty storehouse, but they were happy, as these things go, for a long while. And then Death came in the night and whispered her secret into the ear of the eighty second Lord of Stormhold, and he nodded his grey head and said nothing more.
For reasons Salim does not understand, his brother-in-law’s business partners have booked him into the Paramount Hotel on Forty-sixth Street. He finds it confusing, claustrophobic, expensive, alien.