“An Angel who did not so much fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards.”

Adults follow paths. Children explore.

People want to forget the impossible. It makes their world safer.

People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.

You have a good heart. Sometimes that’s enough to see you safe wherever you go. But mostly, it’s not.

I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating.

If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends.

And did I pass?” The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left, the younger woman said, “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.

He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.

Life is a disease: sexually transmitted, and invariably fatal.

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

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.

You’re always you, and that doesn’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

We owe it to each other to tell stories.

Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.

Words save our lives, sometimes.

When I was a child, adults would tell me not to make things up, warning me of what would happen if I did. As far as I can tell so far, it seems to involve lots of foreign travel and not having to get up too early in the morning.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

If you’re not okay, you might as well not pretend you are, especially since life has a way of holding us down until we utter that magic word: help! That’s when angels rush to your side.

I am imperfect in many things, nevertheless I want my brethren and kinsfolk to know my nature so that they may be able to perceive my soul’s desire.

This question is posed to myself, am I a man who thinks he’s an angel? Or an angel who thinks he’s a man?

I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which to Angels look like torment and insanity.

Fiery the Angels rose, & as they rose deep thunder roll’d Around their shores, indignant burning with the fires of Orc.

All forces that reside in the body are angels.

There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia.