A mad man sees what he sees.

On the gallows tree, all men are brothers.

She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends.

Wizards die the same as other men, once you cut their heads off.

I am not going to get into it myself, except to say (1) if I am writing "boy fiction," who are all those boys with breasts who keep turning up by the hundreds at my signings and readings? and (2) thank you, geek girls! I love you all.