With American Gods I was trying very, very consciously - there was a level at which it was a little like trying to write a novel in French - you know, "this novel is to be written in American."

Not knowing everything is all that makes it OK, sometimes.

He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.

It sounded like a piece of blackboard being dragged over the nails of a wall of severed fingers.

I was thinking one of the great things about fiction is we, as a race, only get to look out of our own eyes at the world. And fiction is a fantastic way of looking out through somebody else's eyes.

There are little pockets of old time in London, where things and places stay the same, like bubbles in amber,” she explained. “There’s a lot of time in London, and it has to go somewhere—it doesn’t all get used up at once.” “I may still be hung over,” sighed Richard. “That almost made sense.

We often confuse what we wish for with what is.