skulduggery pleasant is the best book I've ever read and has enspired myself to become an author.

Talking about one's feelings defeats the purpose of having those feelings. Once you try to put the human experience into words, it becomes little more than a spectator sport. Everything must have a cause, and a name. Every random thought must have a root in something else.

She turned to Skulduggery and held out her arms. “Come here, you.” He tilted his head. “My hugs are for special occasions only.” “Hug me.” “I prefer the old tradition.” “Hug.” “Would a handshake do?” “Hug.” “A pat on the back?” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him. “Hug,” she said. He sighed, and his hands settled on her shoulders. The others were warm and their embraces strong – with Skulduggery the hug was cold, and there were areas on his jacket that gave way beneath her fingers, and she could feel the emptiness within. She didn’t mind.

She glared at him. 'I'm not weird like that. I'm good weird. I'm cool weird.' 'Yes,' he said doubtfully. 'Yes, you are.

If anyone stops us, as long as we mumble something pretentious about the glory of death, we should be fine.

The world is bigger than you know, and scarier than you might imagine. The only currency worth anything is being true to yourself, and the only goal worth seeking is finding out who you truly are.

Sometimes it's not what you say, Valkyrie, it's just the fact that you're saying it.