Malina looked incredulous. "Are you anything more than a Druid?" "Of course I am. I own this shop and I play a mean game of chess, and I've been told that I'm a frakkin' Cylon." "What's a frakkin' Cylon?" "I don't know, but it sounds really scary when you say it with a Polish Accent.

He will spit you and roast you with rosemary, and we will all sample your flesh tonight. Tomorrow you will be shat out into the snow. Your diplomacy is bold and edgy, sir.

I yawned and stretched luxuriously in the morning. I make noises when I stretch because it feels ten times better than stretching silently.

Mr. Tall, Blonde and Lightning

Peace be with you," I said, and as I turned to resume my journey with Coyote, I added under my breath, "and asskicking be with me.

I can't spend too much time in the forests because I invariably leave traces-ridiculously happy trees, basically, since I'm the last Druid in the world and they tend to geek out like Joss Whedon fans when I show up.

There are many perks to living for twenty-one centuries, and foremost among them is bearing witness to the rare birth of genius. It invariably goes like this: Someone shrugs off the weight of his cultural traditions, ignores the baleful stares of authority, and does something his countrymen think to be completely batshit insane. Of those, Galileo was my personal favorite. Van Gogh comes in second, but he really was batshit insane.