You're no help," he told the lime. This was unfair. It was only a lime; there was nothing special about it at all. It was doing the best it could.

Richard did not believe in angels, he never had. He was damned if he was going to start now. Still, it was much easier not to believe in something when it was not actually looking directly at you and saying your name.

When things get tough, this is what you should do: Make good art. I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician -- make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by a mutated boa constrictor -- make good art. IRS on your trail -- make good art. Cat exploded -- make good art. Someone on the Internet thinks what you're doing is stupid or evil or it's all been done before -- make good art.

What need, Dunstan wondered, could someone have of the storm-filled eggshells?

It is going to take more than just a couple of good-hearted souls to raise this child. It will take a graveyard.

What do I do now?” “I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role.

There was nowhere they could have gone and they went there anyway.