This is the end of our sentence

We've always known we'd eventually be called upon to open our shirts and save the day, and the superhero was a crude, hopeful attempt to talk about how we all might feel on that day of great power, and great responsibility.

If this book has made any point clear, I hope it's that things don't have to be real to be true. Or vice versa.

Consciousness, rather than being something that we have, is something we participate in.

I'm lucky to have a job doing something I really love to do, and I'm happy to accept the pressures of relentless deadlines or reader expectations as necessary evils. It's probably not as stressful as mining coal or leading men into battle.

It's quite possible we may actually be looking at some kind of super-sanity here. A brilliant new modification of human perception, more suited to urban life at the end of the twentieth century...He creates himself each day. He sees himself as the lord of misrule and the world as a theatre of the absurd.

Life doesn't have plots and subplots and denouements. It's just a big collection of loose ends and dangling threads that never get explained.