All things that are, are ours. But we must care. For if we do not care, we do not exist. If we do not exist, then there is nothing but blind oblivion. And even oblivion must end someday. Lord, will you grant me just a little time? For the proper balance of things. To return what was given. For the sake of prisoners and the flight of birds. Death took a step backwards. It was impossible to read expression in azrael's features. Death glanced sideways at the servants. Lord, what can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the reaper man?

You're allowed to grant people into the darkness, but you must allow them to come out again.

And our lady friend, she thinks life works like a fairy tale.' Well, that’s harmless, isn’t it?' Yeah, but in fairy tales, when someone dies... it’s just a word.

Knowing things is magical, if other people don't know them.

... all reputable falconers agreed that for hunting purposes the only way you could reliably bring down prey with a wowhawk was by using it in a slingshot.

It was like being in a Jane Austen novel, but one with far less clothing.

If anyone wants one my advise is to go where the orthodox Jews shop, because when it comes to a big black fedora, the guys with ringlets and long black coats definitely know a stylish hat when they see one. You want to get it home and use a hot steaming kettle, and bob's your uncle - you have a hat with all the right curves!