Christ, Harry, Murphy said quietly. No one just starts giggling and wearing black and signs up to become a villainous monster. How the hell do you think it happens? She shook her head, her eyes pained...
That’s just a fiction, I said, a little game of protocol. Little games of protocol are how one shows respect, especially to those with whom one does not get along famously well. It can be tedious, but...
That's the worst part about the walking dead... the stains.
It’s an old place, but it sings in the darkness and is, in its own quirky little way, alive. It’s home.
Are dangerous. Wills are dangerous. You are heavily armed with both. Tavi
You can’t photograph anything really supernatural, I pointed out. The energies around things like that will mess up cameras.
It's a shadelight. Some of my men put one up whenever I lose a member of the crew. To light his shade's way back to his bunk, so he can rest.
That's Doctor Smart-ass. I didn't spend eight years in insult college to be called Mister.
You can’t change what has already happened. But you choose what to do next. Which means that you only cross over to the dark side if you choose to do it.
Precisely. I am just another blind man. I do not get the whole picture of what transpires in all places. I am blind and limited. I would be a fool to think myself wise. And so, not knowing what the un...
That was silly, to think that they would not love each other—but sometimes humans are slow to figure things out, because they are heart-stupid. You are, too. That’s okay. Just get a dog. Dogs can teac...
It was a well-known fact that humans became more addled than usual when running in herds.
That things will unfold as they are meant to, Forthill said. That even in the face of an immediate ugliness, the greater picture will resolve into something all the more beautiful.
To live outcast from your own kind, laughed at and mocked by most mortals. Living in a hovel, barely scraping by. Spurning wealth and fame. Why do you do it? I’m a disciple of the Tao of Peter Parker,...
Speak, then, manling, said Mother Winter. You have a little time left.
Hell’s bells. I don’t call him the Fist of God as a pet name, folks.
Being called dangerous by a cat could mean a great many things, but it was generally delivered as something of a compliment.
All of those faeries and duels and mad queens and so on, and no one quoted old Billy Shakespeare. Not even once.
But even with centuries of experience, I doubted any of them had ever been hit with a water balloon. Or with a holy-water balloon, either.
She is my child, Charity objected. She was, Forthill corrected her, if only for a time. Children are a precious gift, but they belong to no one but themselves. They are only lent us a little while.
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