Quotes from Jim Butcher

I don't make metaphors. ... I'm too busy being one. - Leanansidhe

My knuckles ached to meet his nose.

A tumbleweed went rolling by in the street. I'm not even kidding. An actual, literal tumbleweed. Man, Oklahoma.

Life's easier when you can write off others as monsters, as demons, as horrible threats that must be hated and feared. The thing is, you can't do that without becoming them, just a little.

Paranoia—because why should the conspiracy theorists get to have all the fun?

Nearly everyone underestimates how powerful the touch of another person's hand can be. The need to be touched is something so primal, so fundamentally a part of our existence as human beings that its true impact upon us can be difficult to put into words.

I'm really not all that interesting. I like reading, staying home, going on walks with my dog—it's like I'm already a retiree. Who wants to hear about that? Especially when I would have to scream it over the music to which no one dances.

She kissed me again, and I returned it in kind, and it was a liquid, smooth thing, as restrained and desperate as the near-still surface of a rushing river.

He shook his head. "Love killed the dinosaurs, man.

I'll be patient," I said. "But not forever.

Precisely. I am just another blind man. I do not get the whole picture of what transpires in all places. I am blind and limited. I would be a fool to think myself wise. And so, not knowing what the universe means, I can only try to be responsible with the knowledge, the strength, and the time given to me. I must be true to my heart.

I woke up. That surprised me, in itself.

Butters blinked and looked at Thomas. "My God," he said. "You've been shot." Thomas hooked a thumb at Butters. "Check out Dr. Marcus Welby, MD, here." "I'd have gone with Doogie Howser, maybe," I said. "Split the difference at McCoy?" Thomas asked. "Perfect." "You've been shot!" Butters repeated, exasperated.

Subtle and quick to anger?" "Not so subtle.

I'm so pretty, it's hard for me to think of myself as intelligent.

HOW CAN YOU KNOW THIS?" the Voice demanded. "I look at things and think about them," Folly replied. "And use my intuition, of course, and deduction and induction, as well as any historical or theoretical models that seem to apply.

Sometimes I get tired of being the guy who is supposed to deal with un-deal-withable situations. I

You learn very quickly not to make mistakes given the correct incentive to avoid them.

I don't care about whose DNA has recombined with whose. When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching—they are your family.

It was like a fire in my thoughts, my concentration, burning ever more brightly, more pure, refining my anger, my hate, into something steel-hard, steel-sharp. I could feel it burning, and reached for it eagerly, shoving the pain inside to fuel my incandescent anger.

I'd hate to find out that the universe really wasn't conspiring against me. It would jerk the rug out from under my persecution complex.

I will not live in a realm where calculations of power supersede justice and law - regardless of how inconvenient that may be to the Crown.

Pain is there to tell us when we've done something badly—it's a teacher, a guide, one that is always there to both warn us of our limitations and challenge us to overcome them.

Because it needs to be said," she murmured. "Because that's what happened. You deserve to know that.