“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful.

The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do.

Every hour wounds. The last one kills.

There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, you’re doing something.

Everybody going to be dead one day, just give them time.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hands.

I mean, maybe I am crazy. I mean, maybe. But if this is all there is, then I don’t want to be sane.

To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.

You don’t have to stay anywhere forever.

There’s none so blind as those who will not listen.

Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again. Whenever it rains you will think of her.

Oh, monsters are scared,” said Lettie.” That’s why they’re monsters.

A philosopher once asked, “Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?” Pointless, really…”Do the stars gaze back?” Now, that’s a question.

That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.

Biting’s excellent. It’s like kissing – only there is a winner.