... people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

Work and pray, live on hay, youll get pie in the sky when you die.

There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.

Longhaired preachers come out every night, Tryin' to tell us what's wrong and what's right. But when asked about something to eat, They will tell you in voices so sweet. You will eat (You will eat!) By and by, (By and by!) In that glorious land in the sky. (Way up high!) Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. (That's a lie!)

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

She liked things that had been written by people who had lived short, ugly, and tragic lives. Or, who at least, were English.

Aren't you going to tell me I'm not so bad? she asked. Mmm-no. I was thinking how every man loves a hot girl with a history of making mistakes. Because it's always possible she'll make one with you.