Quotes from Joe Hill

Because there is no God. Your prayers are whispers to an empty room.

In his mind he's that guy in the cowboy hat from The Walking Dead, wiping out the zombies.

It's like . . . a house after someone moves out. The house is still there, but all their stuff is gone. Someone took away the furniture and rolled up the rugs. The movers crated all the parts of Shelly Beukes up and shipped her away. There's just not much left of her anymore except the empty house.

PLEEZ BE QUITE IN THE LIBERY PEPLE R TRYING TO GET HI!

Your personality is not just a matter of what you know about yourself, but what others know about you. You are one person with your mother, and another with your lover, and yet another with your child. Those other people create you—finish you—as much as you create you. When you're gone, the ones you've left behind get to keep the same part of you they always had.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be kicked in the nuts as soon as they try to get back up.

Aisha was ten and didn't understand half of what Colson said, up there on the stage, dressed in purple velvet like he was Prince. She couldn't follow the words, but she didn't have any problem making sense of the way Juliet looked at him. Aisha didn't have any problem figuring out why Juliet's cousin hated Romeo either. Tybalt didn't want some smooth-talking black kid crowding in on any white girl, let alone someone in his family.

What a blessed, if painful thing, this being alive.

Lady Gaga or Amanda Palmer or something. Some cute lunatic with a piano.

Innocence ain't all it's cracked up to be, you know. Innocent little kids rip the wings off flies, because they don't know any better. That's innocence.

Renée said it was easier to spot a moose in New Hampshire than a black person. She said she was used to being stared at as if her head were on fire, people had been staring that way for years. The

You don't want to start A Game of Thrones when you might catch fire all of a sudden.

Nah. Hero, for sure. Think about it. In his first adventure, he took the form of a snake to free two prisoners being held naked in a Third World jungle prison by an all-powerful megalomaniac. At the same time, he broadened their diet and introduced them to their own sexuality.

The cat was a gift from Manx, who runs Christmasland in Colorado.

I've already visited the lost and lonely place at the end of the world, and all I know is, the only way to keep going is to do the things the people you loved would've wanted you to do.

It is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself. —G. Greene

I think you must make a few [mistakes]. Of you don't, you're probably thinking too much. That's the worst mistake you can make.

everyone always dies in the middle of a good story, in a sense. Your own story. Or the story of your children. Or your grandchildren. Death is a raw deal for narrative junkies." Around

every fictional world was a work of fantasy, and whenever writers introduce a threat or a conflict into their story, they create the possibility of horror. He had been drawn to horror fiction, he said, because it took the most basic elements of literature and pushed them to their extremes. All fiction was make-believe, which made fantasy more valid (and honest) than realism. He

Only the devil loves humans for what they are and rejoices in their cunning schemes against themselves, their shameless curiosity, their lack of self-control, their impulse to break a rule as soon as they hear tell of it, their willingness to forsake their immortal soul for nookie. The devil knows that only those with the courage to risk their soul for love are entitled to have a soul, even if God does not.

It was hard to venture back near the place you had been bred without settling into the characteristics of the person you had been there.

She associated English accents with singing teapots, schools for witchcraft, and the science of deduction. This wasn't, she knew, terribly sophisticated of her, but she had no real guilt about it. She felt the English were themselves to blame for her feelings. They had spent a century relentlessly marketing their detectives and wizards and nannies, and they had to live with the results.

You know, we might've fucked up the planet, sucking out all the oil, melting ice caps, allowing ska music to flourish, but we made Coca-Cola, so goddamn it, people weren't all bad." "As

The wind surged, and a burst of rain, barely a dozen drops, struck the blacktop ahead of me, producing the smell that is one of the finest odors in the world, the fragrance of hot asphalt in a summer shower.