Some tiny sane part of him knew he was out of control, but that wasn’t the part of him that had its hands on the wheel. - Lev Grossman

But of course You can get so much done when everyone thinks You’re dead. No interruptions. No one prays to a dead God, why would they?

He's so happy," Eliot said dryly. "It's like he cooked something and it came out looking like the picture in the cookbook.

This was a double game: he was trying to save his childhood, to preserve it and trap it in amber, but to do that he was calling on things that partook of the world beyond childhood, whose touch would leave him even less innocent than he already was. What would that make him? Neither a child nor an adult, neither innocent nor wise. Perhaps that is what a monster is.