Give me boredom. At least I know where I'm going to eat and sleep tonight.

I liked myths. They weren't adult stories and they weren't children stories. They were better than that. They just were. Adult stories never made sense, and they were slow to start. They made me feel like there were secrets, Masonic, mythic secrets, to adulthood. Why didn't adults want to read about Narnia, about secret islands and smugglers and dangerous fairies?

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

I always say that if you're a novelist, the challenge is not writing what you think ought to happen, but trying in some way to write what did happen in a world that doesn't necessarily exist.

Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.

I do not threaten, I merely advise caution.

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.