The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication.

Somewhere around the place I've got an unfinished short story about Schrodinger's Dog; it was mostly moaning about all the attention the cat was getting.

I MAY HAVE ALLOWED MYSELF SOME FLICKER OF EMOTION IN THE RECENT PAST, said Death, BUT I CAN GIVE IT UP ANY TIME I LIKE.

Time was something that largely happened to other people; he viewed it in the same way that people on the shore viewed the sea. It was big and it was out there, and sometimes it was an invigorating thing to dip a toe into, but you couldn't live in it all the time. Besides, it always made his skin wrinkle.

Sometimes the truth is arrived at by adding all the little lies together and deducting them from the totality of what is known.

People don't like to say Horror so they say Dark Fantasy because that's Horror wearing a collar and tie.

"It would seem that you have no useful skill or talent whatsoever" he said. "Have you thought of going into teaching?"