I think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn’t that dumb? But it was like I knew her. Like she was my oldest, dearest friend.
NEIL GAIMANI think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn’t that dumb? But it was like I knew her. Like she was my oldest, dearest friend.
NEIL GAIMANIn a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. And every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of heart you’ll never see again.
NEIL GAIMANTomorrow may be hell, but today was a good writing day, and on the good writing days nothing else matters.
NEIL GAIMANThe house smelled musty and damp, and a little sweet, as if it were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead cookies.
NEIL GAIMANI 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 anything? What then?
NEIL GAIMANWherever you go, you take yourself with you.
NEIL GAIMANWhatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.
NEIL GAIMANShe says nothing at all but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.
NEIL GAIMANPeople want to forget the impossible. It makes their world safer.
NEIL GAIMANThere 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.
NEIL GAIMANBecause,’ she said, ‘when you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave.
NEIL GAIMANPeople 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.
NEIL GAIMANI think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.
NEIL GAIMANAdults follow paths. Children explore.
NEIL GAIMANBut how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?
NEIL GAIMANI liked myths. They weren’t adult stories and they weren’t children’s stories. They were better than that. They just were.
NEIL GAIMAN