The ducks in St James's Park are so used to being fed bread by secret agents meeting clandestinely that they have developed their own Pavlovian reaction. Put a St James's Park duck in a laboratory cag...
That is the eternal folly of man. To be chasing after the sweet flesh, without realizing that it is simply a pretty cover for the bones.
Sometimes big things happen, and they echo. Those echoes crash across worlds. They are the ripples in the fabric of things. Often they manifest as storms. Reality is a fragile thing, after all.
Someone killed my Mother and my Father and my Sister?Yes, someone did.A Man?A Man.Which means, said Bod, you're asking the wrong question.Silas raised an eyebrow. How so?Well, said Bod. If I go outsid...
So, you figure they won't notice you're back? sneered the marquis. Just, 'oh look, there's another angel, here, grab a harp and on with the hosannas'?
So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.
So you used to know everything?She wrinkled her nose. Everybody did. I told you. It's nothing special, knowing how things work. And you really do have to give it all up if you want to play.To play wha...
So be wise, because the world needs more wisdom, and if you cannot be wise, pretend to be someone who is wise, and then just behave like they would.
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know i...
She had such unusual eyes. They made me think of the seaside, and so I called her Ocean, and could not have told you why.
Really, he thought, if you couldn't trust a poet to offer sensible advice, who could you trust?
Perhaps this is the ultimate freedom, eh, Dreamlord? The freedom to leave.
Only the Gods are real.
Now go and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here.
Not knowing everything is all that makes it OK, sometimes...
Media. I think I have heard of her. Isn't she the one who killed her children?
Literature does not occur in a vacuum. It cannot be a monologue. It has to be a conversation, and new people, new readers, need to be brought into the conversation too.
Koty nie mają imion (...) Wy, ludzie, macie imiona. To dlatego, że nie wiecie, kim jesteście. My wiemy, kim jesteśmy, więc nie potrzebujemy imion.
It's easy, there's a trick to it, you do it or you die.
It is only a gesture, he said, turning back to Shadow. But gestures mean everything. The death of one dog symbolizes the death of all dogs.