I thought about moving south, about continuing to run, continuing to pretend I was alive. But it was, I knew now, much too late for that. There are doors, after all, between the living and the dead, and they swing in both directions.

A novel seemed the easiest way to get what I had had in my head into the inside of other people's heads. Books are good that way.

Nobody gets through life without losing a few things on the way.

HERE ARE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS, CROWLEY. And suddenly he knew. He hated that. They could just as easily have told him, they didn't suddenly have to drop chilly knowledge straight into his brain.

When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do.

Words can be worrisome, poeple complex, motives and manners unclear, grant her the wisdom to choose her path right, free from unkindness and fear.

"Death's a capricious thing, innit?" "Yes. Yes, she is."