That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.

Any fool could be a witch with a runic knife, but it took skill to be one with an apple corer.

Probably the last sound heard before the Universe folded up like a paper hat would be someone saying, "What happens if I do this?"

The universe danced towards life. Life was a remarkably common commodity. Anything sufficiently complicated seemed to get cut in for some, in the same way that anything massive enough got a generous helping of gravity. The universe had a definite tendency towards awareness. This suggested a certain subtle cruelty woven into the very fabric of space-time.

There is no doubt that being human is incredibly difficult and cannot be mastered in one lifetime.

It was also a room full of books and made of books. There was no actual furniture; this is to say, the desk and chairs were shaped out of books. It looked as though many of them were frequently referred to, because they lay open with other books used as bookmarks.

Chain-mail isn't much defence against an arrow. It certainly isn't when the arrow is being aimed between your eyes.