“There are many perks to living for twenty-one centuries, and foremost among them is bearing witness to the rare birth of genius. It invariably goes like this: Someone shrugs off the weight of his cultural traditions, ignores the baleful stares of authority, and does something his countrymen think to be completely batshit insane. Of those, Galileo was my personal favorite. Van Gogh comes in second, but he really was batshit insane.”

“The grin on his face wasn’t the affable, friendly sort; instead, it was the sociopathic rictus of the irretrievably, bug-fuckeringly insane”

“What sealed the deal for me was that the cloak wouldn't come off without a generous donation of my tears. Those used to be almost impossible for me to summon, I admit, until I watched Field of Dreams. When Kevin Costner asks his dad at the end if he'd like to have a catch, I just completely lose my shit.”

“I think this man might actually possess supernatural powers. He makes people lose their minds and I’m sure some of them do lose bladder control as well." "I see. And who is this author" "Neil Fucking Gaiman." "His second name is Fucking?" "No Leif that’s the honorary second name all celebrities are given by their fans. It’s not an insult it’s a huge compliment and he’s earned it.”

“Did you get me that movie about Genghis Khan?'It's in the Netflix queue, but that's not the surprise. You don't need to worry, it'll be something good. I just don't want you to feel depressed about going home.'Oh, I won't. But it would be cool to have a stream like this in the backyard. Can you make one?'Ummm... no.'I figured. Can't blame a hound for trying.Oberon was indeed surprised when we got back home to Tempe. Hal had made the arrangements for me and Oberon perked up as soon as we were dropped off by the shuttle from the car rental company.'Hey, smells like someone's in my territory,' he said.'Nobody could be here without my permission, you know that.''Flidais did it.''That isn't Flidais you smell, believe me.'I opened the front door, and Oberon immediately ran to the kitchen window that gazed upon the backyard. He barked joyously when he saw what was waiting for him there.'French poodles! All black and curly with poofy little tails!''And every one of them in heat.''Oh, WOW! Thanks Atticus! I can't wait to sniff their asses!'He bounded over to the door and pawed at it because the doggie door was closed to prevent the poodles from entering.'You earned it, buddy. Hold on, get down off the door so I can open it for you, and be careful, don't hurt any of them.'I opened the door, expecting him to bolt through it and dive into his own personal canine harem, but instead he took one step and stopped, looking up at me with a mournful expression, his ears drooping and a tiny whine escaping his snout.'Only five?”

“My mouth gaped and I think I might have whimpered. The Norns had obliterated him completely—a creature they’d known for centuries—because of me. It was like watching Rudolph get shot by Santa Claus.”

“I have been around long enough to discount most superstitions for what they are: I was around when many of them began to take root, after all. But one superstition to which I happen to subscribe is that bad juju comes in threes. The saying in my time was, "Storm clouds are thrice cursed," but I can't talk like that and expect people to believe I'm a twenty-one year-old American. I have to say things like, "Shit happens, man.”