I'm delirious. Spots are crawling before my eyes." "Those are spiders.

Happiness isn't a thing. You can't go out and get it like a cup of tea. It's the way you feel about things.

It does seem that a fantasy, working out in its own terms, stretching you beyond the normal concerns of your own life, gains you a peculiar charge of energy which inexplicably enriches you. At least, this is my ideal of a fantasy, and I am always trying to write it.

There were horrendous, dramatic, violent quantities of green slime—oodles of it. It covered Howl completely. It draped his head and shoulders in sticky dollops, heaping on his knees and hands, trickling in glops down his legs, and dripping off the stool in sticky strands. It was in oozing ponds and crawling pools over most of the floor. Long fingers of it had crept into the hearth. It smelled vile.

Pray use both cats as sponges if it pleases you, infatuated infantryman.

Then watch out. I warn you!" "That is very considerate of you," said Chrestomanci. "I like to be warned.

...if the spell was off, I’d have my heart eaten before I could turn around.” “Don’t you want your heart eaten?” asked the fire. [...] “Naturally I don’t,” Sophie answered.