The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air like wisps of the past and hints of the future.

Don't borrow trouble. The interest is too high.

I wish people would quit telling me to think. I think. Thinking's easy. It's not thinking that's hard.

The world of maps is nice and flat and simple. It has areas for people and areas for monsters. What a shock it is to discover the world is round and the areas merge and nothing separates the monsters and ourselves; that we are all whirling around in space together and there isn't even a graceful way of falling off.

the smell of lilacs crept poignantly into the room like a remembered spring.

If you go around looking for accidents, asking for them, they can't be called accidents any more.

Common sense is a vastly overrated virtue. I myself prefer the spark of genius.