There's a tale in the Caballa that suggests that the Angel of Death is so beautiful that upon seeing it (or him, or her) you fall in love so hard, so fast, that your soul is pulled out through your eyes. I like that story.

I've been inspired by dreams - I've even stolen scenes or images or characters from them.

When you die, they can make you into diamonds now. It’s scientific. That’s how I want to be remembered. I want to shine.

It is not that I was credulous, simply that I belived in all things dark and dangerous. It was part of my young creed that the night was full of ghosts and witches, hungry and flapping and dressed completely in black.

Suppose we pick a name for him, eh?" Caius Pompeius stepped over and eyed the child. "He looks a little like my proconsul, Marcus. We could call him Marcus." Josiah Worthington said, "He looks more like my head gardener, Stebbins. Not that I'm suggesting Stebbins as a name. The man drank like a fish." "He looks like my nephew Harry," said Mother Slaughter... "He looks like nobody but himself," said Mrs.Owens, firmly. "He looks like nobody." "Then Nobody it is," said Silas. "Nobody Owens.

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

If you read enough Lionel Fanthorpe, your brain starts to turn to jelly and just dribbles out of your ears.