Neil Gaiman Quotes

You ask me if I can forgive myself? I can forgive myself for many things.

It is the curse of age, that all things are reflections of other things.

Silver chains come in all shapes and sizes.

The TV's the altar. I'm what people are sacrificing to.''What do they sacrifice?' asked Shadow.'Their time, mostly,' said Lucy. 'Sometimes each other.

That’s an Anansi story. ’Course, all stories are Anansi stories. Even this one.

Nobody will ever hurt her. She’ll just smile her faint vague wonderful smile and walk away.

Not knowing everything is all that makes it OK, sometimes...

Nothing's ever the same, she said. Be it a second later or a hundred years. It's always churning and roiling. And people change as much as oceans.

Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all.

Sometimes I wonder if she transforms people into animals, or whether she finds the beast inside us, and frees it.

Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions are too huge to be felt.

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...

Writing may or may not be your salvation; it might or might not be your destiny. But that does not matter. What matters right now are the words, one after another. Find the next word. Write it down.

People populate the darkness; with ghosts, with gods, with electrons, with tales.

But the truth is, it's not the idea, it's never the idea, it's always what you do with it.")

I don't think immediate tragedy is a very good source of art. It can be, but too often it's raw and painful and un-dealt-with. Sometimes art can be a really good escape from the intolerable, and a goo...

Recounting the strange is like telling one's dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can colour one's entire day.

Scuse me, said a small and hairy voice in his ear, but would you mind dreamin’ a bit quieter? Your dreams is spillin’ over into my dreams, and if there’s one thing I’ve never been doin’ with, it’s dat...