Truth is a well-known pathological liar. It invariably turns out to be Fiction wearing a fancy frock. Self-proclaimed Fiction, on the other hand, is entirely honest. You can tell this, because it comes right out and says, "I'm a Liar," right there on the dust jacket.

We have laboured long to build a heaven, only to find it populated with horrors.

I don't think any of us grew up into the world we were hoping for or expecting.

No one will ever forget that night, and what it meant for this country. But I will never forget the man and what he meant to me.

If you look at that incredible burst of fantastic characters that emerged in the late 19th century/early 20th century, you can see so many of the fears and hopes of those times embedded in those characters. Even in throwaway bits of contemporary culture you can often find some penetrating insights into the real world around us.

I didn't put you in a prison, Evey. I just showed you the bars.

As far as I can see, it's not important that we have free will, just as long as we have the illusion of free will to stop us going mad.