I dream dark dreams. I dream of a figure moving through the forest, of children flying from his path, of young women crying at his coming. I dream of snow and ice, of bare branches and moon-cast shadows. I dream of dancers floating in the air, stepping lightly even in death, and my own pain is but a faint echo of their suffering as I run. My blood is black on the snow, and the edges of the world are silvered with moonlight. I run into the darkness, and he is waiting. I dream in black and white, and I dream of him. I dream of Caleb, who does not exist, and I am afraid.

You can't prove that something doesn't exist. You can only prove that something does exist.

She was plump, with dyed red hair and a face so caked with cosmetics that the floor of the Amazon jungle probably saw more natural light.

...it was imaginative people who tended to lie. Lying required making stuff up, and only imaginative people were good at that.

Why is there always one bloke in these boy bands who looks like he came to fix the boiler and somehow got bullied into joining the group?

Each man dreams his own heaven.

He became merely the broken statue of a beast, now without another's fear to animate it.