Quotes About Author

When he smiled, she saw that his mouth was full of little hooks, rows of them, each as small and delicate as a sewing needle.

books were girls, and reading was s-ss-ssss—fucking, this would be the biggest whorehouse in the county and I'd be the most ruthless pimp you ever met.

The cicadas buzzed in Bing's head, like madness.

I hope if there is another world, we will not be judged too harshly for the things we did wrong here—that we will at least be forgiven for the mistakes we made out of love. I have no doubt it was a sin of some kind, to let such a one go.

I have known others who could use totems of their own to turn reality inside out. To reshape it like the soft clay it is. There was Craddock McDermott, who claimed that his spirit existed in a favorite suit of his.

In a lot of ways, I guess Satan was the first superhero.

The sky was the exact filthy gray of a Polaroid just beginning to develop.

Fear does not incline people to be moderate in their use of extreme tactics.

I patted the party gun dry, set it down next to the sink, and schlopped off my wet shirt.

Come! All ye faithful! Jiggy and triii-umphant! Come all ye faithful, sing yay for the Lord!

her own hand a candelabra of gold flame.

And at last Lee said, "What are those goddamn things on your head?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "Jesus, Ig. Are those horns?

When the song faded out, a woman began a report, "Today in Blessings." It was news, of a sort. She said word had come in that J. K. Rowling, author of the godless Harry Potter novels, had been killed by firing squad in Edinburgh. Her execution had been televised on what remained of the Web.

And he paddled away in his douche canoe," Bilbo said.

You're a sympathetic sonofabitch, you know that?". "You want sympathy, go fuck James Taylor.

fucking Judas Coyne on the boom box, a guy whose idea of musical complexity is a song with four power chords instead of three.

That is the most wonderful sentence I have ever heard. I want that on my gravestone. Snuffleupagus was real. No more. Just that.

The author is unworthy of His own characters. The devil is first a literary critic, who delivers this untalented scribbler the public flaying He deserves.

Miriam sang, "Gail, Gail, she bosses everyone around. Gail, Gail, she is really stupid." The melody was just as good as the lyrics.

In Maine, around the Lewiston/Auburn/Derry area, there was a place called PENNYWISE CIRCUS. A

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

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

Saunders laughed, a short, breathless sound that did not quite convey amusement, and did the reasonable thing: looked back at his paper.

Ahem, this is your cue to visit the Web sites for PS Publishing, Cemetery Dance Publications, and Subterranean Press