“Good evening, Lord Corwin,' said the lean, cadaverous figure who rested against a storage rack, smoking his pipe, grinning around it.Good evening, Roger. How are things in the nether world?'A rat, a bat, a spider. Nothing much else astir. Peaceful.'You enjoy this duty?'He nodded.I am writing a philosophical romance shot through with elements of horror and morbidity. I work on those parts down here.”

“Good evening charlie, yes I know you rise, two lean grey spiders drifting through your eyes.”

“He carried a pipe in his left hand, and as he examined Will at his leisure, he exhaled sending a cloud of sweet-smelling, cough-induced smoke. 'Finally broke down and admitted you're in love with me, have you?'He inquired of Will. 'I do enjoy these suprise midnight declarations.' He leaned against the doorway and waved a languid ringed hand. "Go along, have at it.”

“Vanity is so firmly anchored in man's heart that a soldier, a camp follower, a cook or a porter will boast and expect admirers, and even philosophers want them; those who write against them want to enjoy the prestige of having written well, those who read them want the prestige of having read them, and perhaps I who write this want the same thing.”

“The Lord said: "Time [death] I am, the destroyer of the worlds, who has come to annihilate everyone. Even without your taking part all those arrayed in the [two] opposing ranks will be slain!”

“Thank you,” I said, turning around a little so I could talk to him. “You’re a good friend.”“I know,” he said, as he tightened his hold around me. I leaned back against his chest, resting against him. “Beckett, I–,” I started to say, but he stopped me.“Shh,” he said. “You don’t need to say anything. Just watch the fireworks.”