Once upon a time – for that is how all stories should begin – there was a boy who lost his mother.
John ConnollyFor in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.
John ConnollyIt was an overcast late November morning, the grass splintered by hoarfrost, and winter grinning through the gaps in the clouds like a bad clown peering through the curtains before the show begins.
John ConnollyDavid's mother would often tell him stories were alive. They weren't alive in the way people were alive,or even dogs or cats. People were alive whether you chose to notice them or not, while dogs tended to make you notice them if they decided that you weren't paying enough attention. Cats, meanwhile, were very good at pretending people didn't exist at all when it suited them.
John Connolly