So?" Bob said. "Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved." "Bob," I said. "You can't just go around killing people." "I know. That's why you should do it." "No, no. I can't go around killing people, either.

Any time I’m not shooting my mouth off to a clichéd, two-bit creature of the night like you, it’s because I’m up to something.

Dammit, Dresden, if you want to know about me, wait for the autobiography like everyone else.

Never let it be said that Harry Dresden is afraid of a dried, dead bug. Creepy or not, I wasn't going to let it ruin my concentration. So I scooped it up with the corner of the phone book and popped it into the middle drawer of my desk. Out of sight, out of mind. So I have a problem with creepy, dead, poisonous things. So sue me.

Pain is to be endured. It ends or it does not.

I do not need the written code of a spiritual belief to act like a decent human being.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of trauma, I will fear no concussion.