As far as I'm concerned, the world is composed of stories. For architects, the world is composed of buildings, for actors the world is composed of theatres, or whatever... For me, the world is simply composed of stories, when I look, that's what I see.

Sometimes big things happen, and they echo. Those echoes crash across worlds. They are the ripples in the fabric of things. Often they manifest as storms. Reality is a fragile thing, after all.

Time is fluid here', said the Demon.

What would be the fun in doing things you know are going to work?

We do not always remember the things that do no credit to us. We justify them, cover them in bright lies or with the thick dust of forgetfulness.

For a moment he thought she was about to hit him, which would have been bad, or even start crying, which would have been much, much worse.

I'm a fairly undisciplined writer.