“I cross two fingers, a binary precaution against hex, effective as superconductor or simple superstition.”

“Cross your fingers, throw salt over your shoulder, knock on wood...simple folk remedies for unfortunate situations. Silly superstitions...but were they based in truth from a past long forgotten? I didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to just do it and let the Universe do its job if it was of a mind to. Don't you think?”

“Never depend on the multitude, full of instability and whims; always take precautions against it.”

“Against the disease of writing one must take special precautions, since it is a dangerous and contagious disease.”

“Like ugly Asian babies, valid superstitions don’t exist. At best, any perceived effect of a superstition is you merely psyching yourself out. Think of it as an asshole placebo.”

“Already all confusion. Things and imaginings. As of always. Confusion amounting to nothing. Despite precautions. If only she could be pure figment. Unalloyed. This old so dying woman. So dead. In the madhouse of the skull and nowhere else. Where no more precautions to be taken. No precautions possible. Cooped up there with the rest. Hovel and stones. The lot. And the eye. How simple all then. If only all could be pure figment. Neither be nor been nor by any shift to be. Gently gently. On. Careful.”