Start telling the stories that only you can tell.

That's the trouble with living things. Don't last very long. Kittens one day, old cats the next. And then just memories. And the memories fade and blend and smudge together.

You can't trust other people. If it's important, you have to do it yourself.

This was the void. Not blackness, not nothingness. This was what lay beneath the thinly painted scrim of reality.

There's a but, isn't there?" said Coraline. "I can feel it. Like a rain cloud.

Actually I didn't shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die, but he could tell I was extremely cross.

But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?