“But Golden's dark form in the doorway had imprinted something new and painful on the hard plates of her chest: that old devil, hope. The kind of hope that abandons you in your worst moments and is suddenly there again, weeks later, trailing you like the stubborn, slinking dog who will not take no for an answer. The kind of greedy hope that tricks you into believing that at least some of the things taken from you might be restored, that after everything, you might find your way back to something like happiness.”

“You might be able to send some girls screaming and crying with that ‘I’m a happy little sadist' act but I’m not some girls Rourke. I hope your King finds you with your hands all over me. I hope he pulls his fee-fi-fo-fum trick of his and melts your bones too.”

“Can a better kind of fiction save the world? There’s always some tiny hope (strange things do happen), but the answer is almost certainly no, it can’t. There is some reasonable chance, however, that it could save your soul. If you’re unhappy about the hatred that’s been unleashed in your heart, you might try imagining what it’s like to be the person who hates you; you might consider the possibility that you are, in fact, the Evil One yourself.”

“You're a hope-killer. 'Cause at least if you'd done it on your back, that's something we c'n understand. Something we c'n do ourselves. But kindness? Luck like that-- it's a million-to-one chance, and you already took the one chance going.”

“Imagine that you are more than nothing. Evil made you, but you are no more evil than a child unborn. If you want, if you seek, if you hope, who is to say that your hope might not be answered?”

“Some words may make you happy, some may make you said. Maybe some will make you angry. What I hope. . . what I hope is that something will whisper in your ear.”