Fiction is like that, once it is released into the world: contagious, persistent. Like the contents of Pandora's box, a story that's freely given can't be contained anymore. It becomes infectious, spreading from the person who created it to the person who listens, and passes it on.

He knew that there was a difference between something that makes you happy and something that doesn’t make you unhappy. The trick was convincing yourself these were one and the same.

As for his name, well, what attorney wouldn't want to be able put a Judge in a crate every now and then?

I tell you this as a cautionary tale: beware of getting what you want. It's bound to disappoint you.

You would wind up as a cat, I told her. They don't need anyone else. I need you, she replied. Well, I said. Maybe I'll come back as catnip.

Whether or not you believe in Fate comes down to one thing: who do you blame when something goes wrong.

How many times would I throw this away before I realized it was what I had been looking for all along?