“It's beautiful," said Mort softly. "What is it?"THE SUN IS UNDER THE DISC, said Death."Is it like this every night?"EVERY NIGHT, said Death. NATURE'S LIKE THAT."Doesn't anyone know?"ME. YOU. THE GODS. GOOD, ISN'T IT?"Gosh!"Death leaned over the saddle and looked down at the kingdoms of the world.I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, he said, BUT I COULD MURDER A CURRY.”

“I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, he said, BUT I COULD MURDER A CURRY.”

“Tell me what it is like to die," I answered. He dismounted from his horse, looking at me strangely the whole while. "You experience something similar every day," he said softly. "It is as familiar to you as bread and butter." "Yes," I said. "It is like every night when I fall asleep." "No. It is like every morning when you wake up.”

“I don't think," he said, "that a vicar is supposed to beat a bishop to death, or even back to death."Mr. Berkeley looked down upon the remains of Bishop Bernard."If anyone asks, we'll say he fell over," he said. "Lots of times.”

“Before they disappeared into the night, Bella said, 'Why do you think anyone wants to conquer someone else?'I don't know.'Really not?'Maybe to discover that person's secret.'And then what?'Then it's been discovered.'Or not.'Well, then you have to conquer that person again.'Again and again,' she said. 'Every day, every night.”

“Okay," I said, "what's your biggest fear?"As always, he took a second to think about the answer."Clowns," he said."Clowns.""Yup."I just looked at him. "What?" he said, glancing over at me."That is not a real answer," I told him."Says who?""Says me. I meant a real fear, like of failure, of death, of regret. Like that. Something that keeps you awake nights, questioning your very existence."He thought for a second. "Clowns.”