One of them hissed-not the hiss of a cat, a long, steady tone-more like the hiss of air escaping the rubber raft that is all that lies between you and a dark sea full of sharks, the hiss of your life leaking out at the seams.

You don't hurry a thinker, and you don't talk to him when he's thinking. It's just inconsiderate.

The pursuit of material gain is ultimately empty when measured against eternity.

It's wildly irritating to have invented something as revolutionary as sarcasm, only to have it abused by amateurs.

He has the attention span of a hummingbird.

An adventure story is fear recalled in comfort.

You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don't.