The Librarian was not familiar with love, which had always struck him as a bit ethereal and soppy, but kindness, on the other hand, was practical. You knew where you were with kindness, especially if you were holding a pie it had just given you.

The trouble with thinking was that, once you started, you went on doing it.

No one knew where you were before you were born, but when you were born, it wasn't long before you found you'd arrived with your return ticket already punched.

They know that people need witches; they need the unofficial people who understand the difference between right and wrong, and when right is wrong and when wrong is right. The world needs the people who work around the edges. They need the people who can deal with the little bumps and inconveniences. And little problems. After all, we are almost all human. Almost all of the time.

If there's one thing that really annoys a god, it's not knowing something.

Just to keep bad dreams at bay, she took a swig out of a bottle that smelled of apples and happy brain-death.

We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork.