Now panic beats and flutters inside my skull like a flock of starlings locked in an attic.

It's a mystery. That's the first thing that interests me about the idea of God. If there is one, it's mysterious and powerful and awesome to even consider the concept, and you have to take it seriously.

He didn’t know if that was really true or not, but he discovered something which was tremendously liberating: he didn’t care. He was very tired of thinking and thinking and still not knowing. He was also tired of being frightened, like a man who has entered a cave on a lark and now begins to suspect he is lost. Stop thinking about it, then. That’s the solution.

If you can't laugh when things go bad--laugh and put on a little carnival--then you're either dead or wishing you were.

Listening to it was like having a mud-slimed piece of silk drawn lightly back and forth across her face.

Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.

I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe.