Though I often run out of courage and good sense, stubbornness keeps me going.
Keep your mind too open, and you never know what might walk in.
There are any number of magical creatures, mostly female, whose singing can bring about horror and death. Sirens, undines, banshees, Bananarama tribute bands...
Nothing is hidden, nothing is ever lost, nothing is ever forgotten. That's always been part of my problem.
There has been peace. There will be peace again. But right now, we have work to do.
Nothing is ever really lost. The memories of good friends and good times are always there, never more than a thought away. In a sense, they never really stopped happening. Every moment you ever treasured, every friend you ever valued is still there, separated from us only by time; the past is still happening and always will be. It's only we who have moved on.
Revenge is simply justice with teeth.
Sometimes humour is all we have to say the things that can't be said.
You know, sometimes I swear the whole universe runs on irony.
What is the world coming to, when you can't even trust a rogue vicar and her demon lover?
Wait. You've got principles? We'll have to update your file.
God does so love to make a man break a promise.
If you don't trust anyone, they can't let you down.
Because nothing makes love and life matter more than the knowledge that some day it must end.
After all, you’re only an immortal until someone manages to kill you. After that, you were just long-lived.
When you are tired of life, come to Haven. And someone will kill you.
Future is like an asshole. Everybody has one.---John Taylor (Nightside Series)
Last night I dreamed I was still human, but now I have woken up, into something better. Farewell, my friends, farewell.
It's tucked away in a quiet corner, shadowed and obscured, no part of the Nightside's usual bright gaudy neon noir. It doesn't advertise and it doesn't care if you habitually pass by on the other side. It's just there for when you need it. Dedicated to the patron saint of lost causes, St. Jude's is an old old place... St. Jude's isn't a place for comfort for frills and fancies and the trappings of religion. just a place where you can talk to your god and sometimes get an answer.
I went to a house that was not a house. I opened a door that was not a door. And what I saw, I saw.
Eddie Drood: Is this why we become agents? To play games, to chase after secrets that are rarely worth all the blood spilled on their behalf...To end up stabbed in the back, just when you thought you'd won, bleeding out in some nameless backstreet...With most people never even knowing who you were, or what you did, or why it mattered?
Who ... what are they?" "My pride and glory," Alex said fondly. "Betty and Lucy Coltrane. Best damned bouncers in the business. Though of course I'd never tell them that. Fiercer than pit bulls and cheaper to run. Married to each other. They had a dog once, but they ate it.
Books can be terrible snobs.
Oh God, it's her, run!
I didn't know if I still had it in me to be really dangerous, but I thought so. It's like knocking someone off a bike with a baseball bat; you never really lose the knack.
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