Neil Gaiman Quotes

Whatever happened to me in my life, happened to me as a writer of plays. I'd fall in love, or fall in lust. And at the height of my passion, I would think, 'So is how it feels,' and I would tie it up...

When you are scared, but you do it anyway, that's brave.

Words save our lives, sometimes.

Writers live in houses other people built.

You can indeed become lost, in dreams. And you may not always find yourself when you wake up.

You don’t pass or fail at being a human, dear.

You get on with your own life. Lettie gave it to you. You just have to grow up and try and be worth it.

You got to understand the god thing. It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified, essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder...

You know what happens when you dream of falling? Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.

You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.

You see, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. It is ultimately negative, and therefore encompasses its downfall even at its moments of apparent triumph. No matter how grandiose, how...

You seem all normal and quiet on the surface. But you are so much weirder than I am, and I am, extremely, fucking, weird.

You shine like a beacon in a dark world.

You think you know all there is to know about here immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

You want to know the future, love? Then wait:

You do your own time in prison. You don't do anyone else's time for them.

Let us begin this letter, this prelude to an encounter, formally, as a declaration, in the old-fashioned way: I love you. You do not know me (although you have seen me, smiled at me). I know you (alth...

It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak.

When writing a novel, that's pretty much entirely what life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.

And I thought, eight years ago, when I began carefully charting the progress of American Gods, nervously dipping my toes into the waters of blogging, would I have imagined a future in which, instead o...