Quotes from John Connolly

He had loved her as much as a man can love his wife, and so nothing more need be said.

We all have our routines. But they must have a purpose and provide an outcome that we can see and take some comfort from, or else they have no use at all. Without that, they are like the endless pacings of a caged animal. If they are not madness itself, then they are a prelude to it.

We face those that we have to face, and there will be times when we must make the choice to act for a greater good, even at risk to ourselves, but we do not lay down our lives needlessly. Each of us has only one life to live, and one life to give.

Regrets, Blacksmith, make poor currency. You can't but back with them what you most desire.

From high in the air, London would look just like a model, with toy houses and miniature trees on tiny streets. Maybe that was the only way you could drop the bombs: by pretending that it wasn't real, that nobody would burn and die when they exploded below.

For a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven.

Stupidity, he knew, did not recognize boundaries of color or creed. But he had come to believe that, like driving a car, people should have to pass a test before being allowed access to the Internet

It has always seemed to me that there are two types of people in this world: those rendered impotent by the sheer weight of evil it contains, and who refuse to act because they see no point, and those who choose their battles and fight them to the end, as they understand that to do nothing is definitely worse than to do something and fail. --The Collector

Real life was curious enough without the embellishments of fiction.

aside. "How long will it take?" He was scared, and he wasn't pretending. "Not long," I said. "Not long at all." You

A mobster who knew Trump socially said of him once, "He'd lie to you about what time of day it is—just for the practice.

Harlan was not a particularly religious man, and had always poured scorn on those whom he termed "God-botherers"—Christian, Jew, or Muslim, he had no time for any of them—but he was, in his way, a deeply spiritual being, worshipping a god whose name was whispered by leaves and praised in birdsong. He had been a warden with the Maine Forest Service for forty years

There's a kind of evil that isn't even in opposition to good, because good is an irrelevance to it. It's a foulness that's right at the heart of existence, born with the stuff of the universe. It's in the decay to which all things tend. It is, and it always will be, but in dying we leave it behind." "And while we're alive?" "We set our souls against it, and our saints and angels, too.

First the girl, then the detective, now the wolf. The town was starting to unravel.

Warraner would rather have been the king of nothing than the prince of something.

Stories wanted to be read, David's mother would whisper. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life.

You pay by the hour, even if the job only takes five minutes. I don't do fractions.

Books are not fixed objects: they transmit words and ideas. Their effect on each reader is unique. They put pictures in our minds. They take root. You

be close to another human being at that instant was enough to convince one, however briefly, that something beyond understanding passed from the body with that final sigh, that some essence began its journey from this world to another.

Death does not come quickly for Babe. Death pilfers Babe piece by piece, pound by pound. But not before Babe conspires with Death in his own dissolution. Babe opens the door, and Death steps through.

He thought of the old commonplace about how giving up vices didn't make you live longer, but just made it feel as though you were living longer.

Newspaper stories were like newly caught fish, worthy of attention only for as long as they remained fresh, which was not very long at all. They

There were books everywhere: on the floors, on the stairs, on furniture both built for that purpose and constructed for other ends entirely. There were bookshelves in the main hallway, in the downstairs rooms, and in the upstairs rooms. There were even bookshelves in the bathroom and the kitchen.

And Frank was right: they were both fathers who had lost children, and somehow they had come through that loss—not without ongoing pain, and not without fractures, but they had endured