“What kind of sick bastard burns down a Christmas tree?”Hugh and I exchanged glances. “That’s an excellent question,” I said dryly.Peter looked startled. “Was it you?” he asked Hugh.“No,” said the imp. “It was Carter.”“Your Christmas tree was burned down by an angel?” asked Cody.“Yup. The irony isn’t lost on me”

“For instance," said the boy again, "if Christmas trees were people and people were Christmas trees, we'd all be chopped down, put up in the living room, and covered in tinsel, while the trees opened our presents.""What does that have to do with it?" asked Milo."Nothing at all," he answered, "but it's an interesting possibility, don't you think?”

“It was a nephilim.”“A nephi-what?” asked Hugh, startled.“Isn’t that a character on Sesame Street?” Peter spoke up for the first time.”

“Paparazzi arrived for Hugh [Grant]. We had to stand under a tree and smile for them.Photographer: 'Hugh, could you look less -- um --'Hugh: 'Pained?”

“I was only kicking down the Christmas tree to get the star on top.”

“She asked me if Christmas was a particularly tense time and whether my father had ever hit my mother while trimming the tree. I couldn't remember anything like that happening, and although it seemed possible, I was suspicious when she asked me if my father had ever thrust the silver star at my mother to deliberately pierce her hand. I said "no" and she said "the bastard" and we both looked a little confused. (p. 9)”