...belief has a second edge. If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one - probably a child - who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.

I'm not making an enemy; I'm keepin' one.

They walked through the rainy dark like gaunt ghosts, and Garraty didn't like to look at them. They were the walking dead.

Do you know how cruel your God can be, David. How fantastically cruel?...Sometimes he makes us live.

Death is a mystery, and burial is a secret.

Go now. Our journey is done. And may we meet again, in the clearing, at the end of the path.

Reading a good long novel is in many ways like having a long and satisfying affair