The best thing—in Shadow's opinion, perhaps the only good thing—about being in prison was a feeling of relief. The feeling that he'd plunged as low as he could plunge and he'd hit bottom. He didn't worry that the man was going to get him, because the man had got him. He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because yesterday had brought it.

You've a good heart. Sometimes that's enough to see you safe wherever you go. But mostly, it's not.

If you want to call it that. But it is a very specific sort of magic. There's a magic you take from death. Something leaves the world, something else comes into it.

There are accounts that, if we open our hearts to them, will cut us too deeply.

I sat in the dark and thought: There’s no big apocalypse. Just an endless procession of little ones.

If it's true that every seven years each cell in your body dies and is replaced, then I have truly inherited my life from a dead man; and the misdeeds of those times have been forgiven, and are buried with his bones.

Dreams are hopes, and echoes of hope.