The world is a clock winding down.

How do you rid the Earth of humans? Rid the humans of their humanity.

Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.

And in more than half the pictures, she isn't looking at the camera; she's looking at him. Not the way I would look at Ben Parish, all squishy around the eyes. She looks at Evan fiercely, like, This here? It's mine

Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.

The cold stars spun to the ancient rhythm, the august march of an everlasting symphony. They are old, the stars, and their memory is long.

The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.