Quotes from John Connolly

In the old house, the past hung in the air like motes of dust waiting to be illuminated by the sharp rays of memory

There's always someplace to go, even if it's only someplace else.

That was what death was like: trapped in a small space with a big weight holding you down for all eternity.

I was a child who loved books, and I am an adult who is the product of books.

H]e looked like a real bruiser as he stepped from his car, his big sunglasses giving the impression that a large bug had evolved to the point that it could wear a suit.

If he has a weakness, it's that he's a moral being. Where possible, he'll do the right thing, the just thing, and if he does wrong he'll bear the guilt of it.

the more of us there are, the more distant from each other we become. We're practically livin' on top of each other but we're further away from each other in every other way than we've ever been before.

We're the world's leading producer of serial killers. It's a sign of sickness, is what it is. We're sick and weak and these killers are like a cancer inside us: the faster we grow, the quicker they multiply.

No matter how hard Evil tries, it can never quite match up to the power of Good, because Evil is ultimately self-destructive. Evil may set out to corrupt others, but in the process corrupts itself. That's just the way Evil is. All things considered, it's better to be on the side of Good, even if Evil occasionally has nicer uniforms.

After all, what is hell but the eternal absence of God? To exist in a hellish state is to be denied forever the promise of hope, of redemption, of love. To those who have been forsaken, hell has no geography.

Okay," I said hoarsely as the blood left my head and headed south for the winter.

But there was a saying in Hebrew, "We survived Pharoah, we'll survive this too." In the words of the old joke, it was the theme of every Jewish holiday: they tried to kill us, they failed, so let's eat!

A faint mist hung over the streets, creating penumbrae around the streetlights like the halos of saints, and making a dreamscape of the skyline.

Nevertheless, before she grew sick, he would often step quietly into the room in which his mother was reading, acknowledging her with a smile (always returned) before taking a seat close by and immersing himself in his own book so that, although both were lost in their own individual worlds, they shared the same space and time.

There are some truths so terrible that they should not be spoken aloud, so appalling that even to acknowledge them is to risk sacrificing a crucial part of one's humanity, to exist in a colder, crueler world than before.

He had found it hard to equate the priest's God with the one who had left his mother to die slowly and painfully.

Kako je odrastao i kako mu je glazba postajala sve važnijom, maj?in je glas po?eo doživljavati manje kao pjesmu, a više kao svojevrsnu simfoniju koja sadržava bezbrojne varijacije na poznate teme i melodije koje se mijenjaju u skladu s njezinim hirovima i raspoloženjima.

Most criminals were dumb, and he took the view that the whole science of criminology was essentially flawed, since much of its theory was based on the study of criminals who had been caught, and were therefore either stupid or unlucky, as opposed to the study of those who had not been caught, and were therefore smart and had a little luck on their side, but just a little. Luck ran out, but smart was for life.

and because atoms are so small, and are constantly being recycled, every breath you take contains atoms that were once breathed by Julius Caesar and Elvis Presley. So a little bit of you formerly ruled Rome, and sang, "Blue Suede Shoes".

He had always worried about her when he was in school, because if he was away from her then he had no control over her existence.

trail during the last year, he has not managed the same trick with law enforcement. SPY has learned that Trump's 1988 sale of Resorts International to Merv Griffin is now the subject of two criminal investigations, one by the FBI. "We are looking

He had counted so carefully. He had abided by the rules, but life had cheated.

Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling.

Anyway, so he bounces in on his white horse like a big perfumed tea cozy, getting involved in affairs that are none of his business, and next thing you know she wakes up and—ooooh!—was she in a bad mood.