But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?
It is neither fair nor unfair, Nobody Owens. It simply is.
So the day became one of waiting, which was, he knew, a sin: moments were to be experienced; waiting was a sin against both the time that was still to come and the moments one was currently disregarding.
You don’t have to stay anywhere forever.
Her other mother smiled brightly and the hair on her head drifted like plants under the sea.
The world seemed to shimmer a little at the edges.
The fallen autumn leaves were slick beneath Bod’s feet, and the mists blurred the edges of the world. Nothing was as clean-cut as he had thought it, a few minutes before.
Being a writer of fiction isn’t like being a compulsive liar, honestly.
If a Devil is one who dares, when others hold back, then I am happy to play the Devil in this Mystery, boy.
When the first living thing existed, I was there waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I’ll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave.
Daisy looked up at him with the kind of expression that Jesus might have given someone who had just explained that he was probably allergic to bread and fishes, so could He possibly do him a quick chicken salad...
Stories are webs, interconnected strand to strand, and you follow each story to the center, because the center is the end. Each person is a strand of the story.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills.
Gods die. And when they truly die they are unmourned and unremembered. Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.
The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.
Dreams are hopes, and echoes of hope.
Nobody’s seen Jesus in years.
I was not so old that I would deny my own senses.
Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.