Answer my question, Dresden,' Nicodemus growled. 'What is that?' 'A precaution against getting stuck in deep snow,' I said. 'He's training to be a Saint Bernard.' 'Excuse me?' Nicodemus said. I mimed covering one of Mouse's ears with my hand and stage-whispered, 'Don't tell him that they don't actually carry kegs of booze on their collars. Break his little heart.

Marcone's scum... But he's his own scum.

Sleep is God. Go worship.

The impossible we do immediately. The unimaginable takes a little while.

I'm dealing with a lot of scary things. I think you have to react to them. And you either laugh at them or you go insane.

We're all of us equally naked before the jaws of pain.

Bring it, Darth Bathrobe!