Angels have very nasty tempers. Especially when they’re feeling righteous.

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

But I think humans are innately religious as a species, so you don't need a specific excuse for examining the perversely unholy.

Always, worlds within worlds.

You can plan to be brave - it's even better if you just try to be brave.

For a writer, and particularly a writer of my genre, which is the fantastical, I think that it's to my advantage to feel remote from and disconnected from the world of deal making.

That which is imagined can never be lost.