Neil Gaiman Quotes

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.

You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.

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.

Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it's always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.

"The little folk dare anything", said his friend. "And they talk a lot of nonsense. But they talks an awful lot of sense, as well. You listen to 'em at your peril, and you ignore 'em at your peril, too."

Have a nice doomsday.

The sky had never seemed so sky; the world had never seemed so world.

“The old religion.”
“Druids?” asked Shadow. He was uncertain what other old religions there were, in England.
“Could be. Definitely could be. But I think it predates the druids. Doesn’t have much of a name. It’s just what people in these parts practice, beneath whatever else they believe. Druids, Norse, Catholics, Protestants, doesn’t matter. That’s what people pay lip service to. The old religion is what gets the crops up and keeps your cock hard and makes sure that nobody builds a bloody great motorway through an area of outstanding natural beauty. The Gateway stands, and the hill stands, and the place stands. It’s well, well over two thousand years old. You don’t go mucking about with anything that powerful.

An Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards.

What power would hell have if those imprisoned here would not be able to dream of heaven?

Kiss a lover,
Dance a measure,
Find your name
And buried treasure.

Face your life,
It's pain,
It's pleasure,
Leave no path untaken.

Look, I'm sorry it's over too. But good things have to end, stories have to end. It's what gives them meaning.

If you dare nothing, then when the day is over, nothing is all you will have gained.

Black as night, sweet as sin.

He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.

You've a good heart. Sometimes that's enough to see you safe wherever you go. But mostly, it's not.

But where does contagion end and art begin?