But there was a kitten on my pillow, and it was purring in my face and vibrating gently with every purr, and, very soon, I slept.

We are always living in the final days. What have you got? A hundred years or much, much less until the end of your world.

I'm probably slightly more famous than I've been comfortable with. Famous enough to have my phone calls returned is about as famous as I want to be.

The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page, and suddenly it all makes sense and you know what it's about and why you're doing it and what these people are saying and doing, and you get to feel like both the creator and the audience. Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising ("but of course that's why he was doing that, and that means that...") and it's magic and wonderful and strange.

Honestly, if you're given the choice between Armageddon or tea, you don't say "what kind of tea?"

He couldn’t see why people made such a fuss about people eating their silly old fruit anyway, but life would be a lot less fun if they didn’t. And there was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it.

Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.