“Oh - that family, yes. There are still some photos of them around here. They look like nice people, don't they?"They...'look like nice people'?"Well, they do, don't they? Of course, they never actually existed - except maybe in the most tenuous and retrospective way - but still, it's nice to think they were good people."Uh. Right. Gee, I suppose you must do a lot of drugs.”

“Do you think they're still there?''Where?''Greece. Egypt. The islands. Those places. Do you think if you walked where those people walked you'd see the gods?''Maybe. But I don't think people'd know that was what they'd seen.”

“We were expecting to see you at the market.""Yes. Well. Some people thought I was dead. I was forced to keep a low profile.""Why . . . why did some people think you were dead?"The marquis looked at Richard with eyes that had seen too much and gone too far. "Because they killed me.”

“Oh- my twitchy witchy girlI think you are so nice,I give you bowls of porridgeAnd I give you bowls of iceCream.I give you lots of kisses,And I give lots of hugs,But I never give you sandwichesWith bugsIn.”

“It's still National Library Week. You should be especially nice to a librarian today, or tomorrow. Sometime this week, anyway. Probably the librarians would like tea. Or chocolates. Or a reliable source of funding.”

“If you make art, people will talk about it. Some of the things they say will be nice, some won’t. You’ll already have made that art, and when they’re talking about the last thing you did, you should already be making the next thing.If bad reviews (of whatever kind) upset you, just don’t read them. It’s not like you’ve signed an agreement with the person buying the book to exchange your book for their opinion.Do whatever you have to do to keep making art. I know people who love bad reviews, because it means they’ve made something happen and made people talk; I know people who have never read any of their reviews. It’s their call. You get on with making art.”

“Silas continued, in his voice like velvet, "You had parents. An older sister. They were killed. I believe that you were to have been killed as well, and that you were not was due to chance, and the intervention of the Owenses.""And you," said Bod, who had had that night described to him over the years by many people, some of whom had even been there. It had been a big night in the graveyard.Silas said, "Out there, the man who killed your family is, I believe, still looking for you, still intends to kill you."Bod shrugged. "So?" he said. "It's only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead.”