Crowley was currently doing 110 mph somewhere east of Slough. Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen albums.
She sat by the side of the road, in the snow, all bodiless and afraid, waiting for the happiness to start.
I opened the door. “Don’t do that,” said a green, globby person. “You’ll let the space-time continuum in.
People named Tinkerbell name their daughters Susan.
If you can’t be happy where you are, you can’t be happy anywhere.
And I know an eighteenth charm, and that charm is the greatest of all, and that charm I can tell no man, for a secret that no one knows but you is the most powerful secret there can ever be.
All the dinosaurs have gone off into the stars, leaving the world to mammals.
We have an obligation to use the language. To push ourselves: to find out what words mean and how to deploy them, to communicate clearly, to say what we mean. We must not attempt to freeze language, or to pretend it is a dead thing that must be revered, but we should use it as a living thing, that flows, that borrows words, that allows meanings and pronunciations to change with time. We.
It would be the end of her life, she decided, if life was a time of choices. In a week from now, she would have no choices.
Fat Charlie saw one thing with his eyes, and he saw something else with his mind, and in the gulf between the two things, madness waited.
Why does she want me to stay here with her?′ ‘She wants something to love, I think,’ said the cat. ‘Something that isn’t her. She might want something to eat as well. It’s hard to tell with creatures like that.
You can indeed become lost, in dreams. And you may not always find yourself when you wake up.
There’s a brotherhood of people who read and who care about books.
There was still the wreckage of that man in there somewhere. That was what made him so terrible, and so sad.
I thought about adults. I wondered if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped in adult bodies...
My hands shook, but the milk did not touch the milk, and the Universe did not end.
Calling cats,” it confided, “tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind.
But,” expostulated Josiah Worthington. “But. A human child. A living child. I mean. I mean, I mean. This is a graveyard, not a nursery, blast it.
Family is who you survive with when you need to survive – even if you do not like them.
There are doors, after all, between the living and the dead, and they swing in both directions.