Honey, I liked the Harry Potter movies, too, but that doesn’t mean I ran out and got a Dark Mark tattooed onto my left forearm like you did.

Oh, I forgot to mention it: My brother is the kind of man whom women stalk. In cooperative packs.

Mort drove one of those little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but Chinese throwing stars get you a dozen stitches.

Over the course of many encounters and many years, I have successfully developed a standard operating procedure for dealing with big, nasty monsters. Run away.

I don't believe in faeries!

We're ostriches and the whole world is sand.