And, as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow it's gone.

I have no use for people who have learned the limits of the possible.

She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.

This time it had been magic. And it didn't stop being magic just because you found out how it was done.

When you're all singing together, it brings things together. I know the songs that my grandfather and my father sang.

He was certain he was anorectic, because every time he looked in a mirror he saw a fat man. It was the Archchancellor, standing behind him and shouting at him.

"And what would humans be without love?" Rare, said Death.