I think that pretty much every form of fiction (I’d include fantasy, obviously) can actually be a real escape from places where you feel bad, and from bad places. It can be a safe place you go, like going on holiday, and it can be somewhere that, while you’ve escaped, actually teaches you things you need to know when you go back, that gives you knowledge and armour and tools to change the bad place you were in. So no, they’re not escapist. They’re escape.

A god's relationship to the world, even a world in which he was walking, was about as emotionally connected as that of a computer gamer playing with knowledge of the overall shape of the game and armed with a complete set of cheat codes.

Something told him that something was coming to an end. Not the world, exactly. Just the summer. There would be other summers, but there would never be one like this. Ever again.

I was always so relieved that anyone wants to publish anything I've written.

What a refreshing mind you have, young man. There really is nothing quite like total ignorance, is there?

As far as I'm concerned, the entire reason for becoming a writer is not having to get up in the morning.

To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.