It can’t rain all the time.
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can’t rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.
We do not recognize our souls until they are in pain.
Childhood is over when you know you’re gonna die.
There is a man, playing a violin, and the strings are the nerves in his own arm...
Funboy: Pal, something is seriously wrong with you. The Crow: Atrocity has that effect on me.
Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.
Death, like virtue, has its degrees.
Remember when you said “Mine?” and I said “Forever”. You said “Only forver?” It’s forever, now.
Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of all children. Do you understand? Do you understand?
Eric screams and screams and pounds his head against the wall until phantom fire trucks race across his vision. All he wants is pain. Pain and hate. Yes, hate. But never fear. Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.
Tonight, hell sends an angel bearing gifts...
Life is lousy with hurt but it also shimmers with beauty.
Shouldn’t have looked, boy...
Pain? I know pain at the molecular level... It pulls at my atoms... Sings to me in an alphabet of fear... I am the boiling man... come to break the bones of your sins, meat puppet...
Who ever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.
Hey gunslinger... nice shot.
Tell them I’m coming, mr. Jones.
He hears men’s voices, shouts, so evil and grim he hears their names: Tin Tin, Fun Boy, T-Bird, Top Dollar and Tom Tom. The sounds sink into his heart like ice and brun in his head with a heat so intense it glows white.
Jesus Christ walks into a hotel... He hands the innkeeper three nails and he asks... Can you put me up for the night.