You don't get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd.

Rain in the graveyard, and the world puddled into blurred reflections.

Gods die. And when they truly die they are unmourned and unremembered. Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.

I wanted to be an author as far back as I can remember, mixed with occasional bouts of wanting to be a werewolf when I grew up. But mostly, when I daydreamed, it was about being an author.

As sure as water's wet and days are long and a friend will always disappoint you in the end.

Well," he said, "f’r example, if they ask where you’ve come from, you could say ‘Behind me,’and if they asked where you’re going, you’d say ‘In front of me.

There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.