Stories, like people and butterflies and songbirds’ eggs and human hearts and dreams, are also fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks. Or they are words on the air, composed of sounds and ideas-abstract, invisible, gone once they’ve been spoken-and what could be… Continue reading Neil Gaiman
The moon likes secrets. And secret things. She lets mysteries bleed into her shadows and leaves us to ask whether they originated from otherworlds, or from our own imaginations. — Charles de Lint
WE have familiar experience of the order, the constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory as is every part of it, restless and migratory as are its elements, never-ceasing as are its changes, still it abides. It is bound together by a law of permanence, it is set… Continue reading William Peter Blatty
Everything that happens before Death is what counts. ― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes. (Avon; Reprint edition, March 1, 1998) Originally published 1962.
First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. ― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes. (Avon; Reprint edition, March 1, 1998) Originally published 1962.
I will vanish in the morning light; I was only an invention of darkness. — Angela Carter, from “The Lady of the House of Love,” The Blood Chamber and Other Stories (Harper & Row, 1980)
What is normal? Normal is only ordinary; mediocre. Life belongs to the rare, exceptional individual who dares to be different. ― V. C. Andrews, My Sweet Audrina. (Pocket Books, September 15, 1990) Originally published 1982.