Ned passed the next few minutes quietly not dying in his office, and was pleased with how well it was going. He'd stayed alive longer, but now that he was concentrating on it, it felt more like an accomplishment.

All coincidences are Odd. That's what makes them coincidences.

Those who write are writers. Those who wait are waiters.

In the middle of nowhere, along a quiet stretch of road, the diner dreamt of the hungry dead. And of two men.

Terrible errors are rarely made all at once. Usually they are performed one small misstep at a time.

Death should take more care with his paperwork.

Quiet descended, a silence so consuming that even the drafty corridors ceased whistling. Bog wasn't certain where to look, so he solved the problem by plucking out his eyes and sticking them in a drawer.