Quotes from John Connolly

All is pretense, but we must be careful what we pretend to be, because that is what we must become.

through life in his vibrant plumage, advertising his presence, hiding nothing, but when he closed his front door behind him the artificial light in his eyes was suffocated, and the face of the Gray Man was pendent like a dead moon in the blackness of his pupils.

la habitual rutina del bebedor: primero ira, luego sensiblería, tristeza, arrepentimiento, rencor.

Alrededor todo era rojo, como el escenario de una terrible tragedia de venganza donde la sangre se convierte en eco de la sangre

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. —Andrew Wyeth (1917

Cadillac might have been off the beaten track, but a lot of folk preferred the ditch to the highway. It was like Neil Young said: you meet more interesting people there.

But the question that consumed him most was its nature, for he believed that men created gods as much, if not more, than gods created men. If this old god existed, it did so because there were men and women who permitted it to continue to exist through their beliefs. They fed it, and it, in turn, fed them.

which was mainly the criminals, the

Billy grinned. 'Seems to me that you might be up to no good here. Are you a bad man?' Quayle smiled back, and the lights of the bar gleamed like dying stars in the void of his eyes. 'Trust me when I say that you have no conception.' Billy's smile faded.

It's odd, but people are capable of forgetting quite extraordinary occurrences very quickly if it makes them happier to do so

Look at you," he said. "A fractured man, a broken thing. I asked for money to kill you, but none would give it. Now I understand why. There is no value to you. You're nothing, and therefore nothing is what your life is worth. But I will kill you anyway, out of pity. I

We see our own mortality only through the prism of the mortality of others.

Footsteps drew nearer, and with them the stink of Mors, potent even amid the gun smoke, the blood, and the smell of dying. She was its quintessence, the crux of it made manifest. It was in her name. She was Death itself.

beard, his profile peculiarly flattened, as though there were not quite enough of him to fully occupy three dimensions.

I believe in those whom I love and trust. All else is foolishness. This god is as empty as his church. His followers choose to attribute all of their good fortune to him, but when he ignores their pleas or leaves them to suffer, they say only that he is beyond their understanding and abandon themselves to his will. What kind of god is that?

She was tall and dark, and although her individual features were without flaw, they had somehow combined to form an unattractive whole, as though she had been created from the scavenged pieces of others. Eldritch

The future of thousands is hanging in the balance right now. Everyone's boat will rise with the tide.

Some revelations came only with the sound of dirt falling on a coffin; the ones that mattered, the ones that made for regrets.

The stories in books hate the stories contained in newspapers.

And even if what he learned did not aid him in his investigation, and he succeeded only in relieving her of its weight, this would be sufficient, because sometimes the service asked of us is just to listen.

Nothing in this place seemed bound by the rules of chance alone. There was a purpose to all that was happening, a pattern behind it, even if David could catch only glimpses of it in passing.

Although he was a northern creature, more comfortable with dark and cold than light and heat, he had long since passed the annual point of weariness with the elements, and yearned to see expanses of earth and grass unsullied by patches of grim ice.

Their smiles never lit up their eyes, and

You're a vile human being," said Pettle, the words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them.