A click: the sound of a switchblade opening, empty, lonely and dark.
Per favore. Come ti chiami?- domandò al gatto. -Senti, io mi chiamo Coraline. Okay?Il gatto sbadigliò lentamente e con attenzione, rivelando una bocca e una lingua di un rosa sorprendente. - I gatti n...
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...
Being brave didn’t mean you weren’t scared. Being brave meant you were scared, really scared, badly scared, and you did the right thing anyway.
You, she told him, are so full of shit, it's a wonder your eyes don't turn brown.
You're very good. Are you a professional artist?I dabble, she said. Shadow had spent enough time talking to the English to know that this meant either that she dabbled, or that her work was regularly...
You see, the outcome of the battle is unimportant. What matters is the chaos, and the slaughter.
You really don't understand, do you? I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn't mean anyt...
You know when I said I knew little about love? That wasn't true. I know a lot about love. I've seen it, centuries and centuries of it, and it was the only thing that made watching your world bearable....
You don't get heaven or hell. Do you know the only reward you get for being Batman? You get to be Batman.
Without our stories we are incomplete.
With cities, as with people, Mister Vandemar, said Mr. Croup, fastidiously, the condition of the bowels is all-important.
When your children grow, when your dark locks begin to silver, when you are an old woman, alone with your three bears, what will you see? What stories will you tell?
When you are seven, beauty is an abstraction, not an imperative.
When people tell you there’s something wrong with a story, they’re almost always right. When they tell what it is that’s wrong and how it can be fixed, they’re almost always wrong.
When angels go bad they are worse than anyone else. Remember Lucifer used to be an angel.
What’s your name, lad?Newton. Newton Pulsifer.LUCIFER? What’s that you say? Are ye of the Spawn of Darkness, a tempting beguiling creature from the pit, wanton limbs steaming from the fleshpots of Had...
What makes you think I'm giving you a ride? Because I'm a damsel in distress, she said. And you are a knight in whatever. A really dirty car.
Well, you’re grown-ups, she said, in a tone of voice that did its best to imply that they weren’t, and that even if they were they shouldn’t be.
We have an obligation to read aloud to our children. To read them things they enjoy. To read to them stories we are already tired of. To do the voices, to make it interesting, and not to stop reading...