We are in the middle of what looks increasingly like the zombie apocalypse. Moaning people don't need help. Moaning people are intending to eat us.

I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.

There is nothing so patient, in this world or any other, as a virus searching for a host.

There's only one thing we never wrote down. You know what it was.

It is what it is. Isn't that how these things always go? They are what they are. We just get to cope.

I'd say it was nice knowing you, but as you've effectively ruined my life, it almost certainly hasn't been.

Jan built herself an ivory tower to keep the wolves out; she never dreamed they were already inside.