Just what I needed—a necromancer with an attitude. Oh, wait, I was a necromancer with an attitude.

You should hit him in the face with frying pans more often," Said Rhys "he seems to like it

Sometimes love isn't about being smart. Sometimes it's about being stupid together.

You cannot die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death.

Some issues stay fresh every time you open them up. It's like evil magical Tupperware -- it stays fresh forever.

I got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans. Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.

There had to be a circle of Hell where you were eternally fourteen, eternally in junior high. One of the lower circles.