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Neil Gaiman

I like the stars. It’s the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend… I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade.… Continue reading Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman

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

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Neil Gaiman

Stories you read when you’re the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you’ll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit. — Neil Gaiman,… Continue reading Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman

In 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 Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders. (William Morrow; First Edition edition, September 26, 2006)

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Neil Gaiman

You never forget. It must be somewhere inside you. Even if the brain has forgotten, perhaps the teeth remember. Or the fingers. —  Neil Gaiman, from “A Lunar Labyrinth,” Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances. ( William Morrow February 3, 2015)

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Neil Gaiman

Her kiss is the deep ocean. Her kiss is not the deep ocean. Her kiss is the grey sky. Her kiss is a blind alley. Her kiss is her touch is her breath is her fingers is what remains after the laughing is over. Her kis is the black dog that follows you in the… Continue reading Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman

It is said that scattered through Despair’s domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your… Continue reading Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman

 What’s the name of the word for the precise moment when you realize that you’ve actually forgotten how it felt to make love to somebody you really liked a long time ago? ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives. (Vertigo; Gph edition March 1, 1999) Originally published 1994.

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