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So June´s idea was that if one dog was a personal depression, two dogs were a kind of cultural depression, civilisation´s worst moods.

Lucy had told me more than once that the past was a burden, that it was time to tear everything down.

But belligerence was a poor aid to concentration, as were three gins and a bottle of wine

Mace leaned on his shovel and did a passable imitation. 'I think we'd rather not.' Very good, guv'nor. I'll remember that next time. Divigation was nice. Where'd you get that one? He swallowed a ****ing dictionary, Corporal Nettle said proudly.

The world is also full of wonders, which is why I'm foolishly in love with it.

We're bound by the same rules that dog out pets. The great chain of non-being is round our necks too.

In those first moments it was easier to conceal a confusion of feeling behind a motherly tone

If only she could, like the mother of Jesus, arrive at that swollen state by magic.

God was once supposed to be a grown-up, but in disputes He childishly took sides.

Her attention remained divided between the page in her hand and, fifty feet away, the closed bedroom door.

Such a fantasy of miscegenation could be a form of racism or simple adoration, but either way he was in no mood to banish it.

L]ibrarians, like ministers of religion, and poets, and people with mental health disorders, can make people nervous.

Given Stalin's recent backsliding on the political independence of Eastern Europe

The result, in the words of a radio intelligence officer, "was confusion superimposed upon disaster.

again and again, throughout the pages of history, a united fleet had hunted down and destroyed the scattered elements of a divided fleet.

This pandemic seems to me not unlike my mother's cancer: a threat, a warning, a reminder for society. Whether, like my mother, we ignore its import, is up to each one of

He bared his teeth in a happy feral grin. My own personal psycho.

I gave him my best cryptic smile. He did not fall down to his feet, kiss my shoes, and promise me the world. I must be getting rusty.

Aha! So I'm not crazy." "You are most definitely crazy," Derek said. "But in a deranged, endearing way.

Was his body made out of orange rocks and did he at any point yell 'It's clobbering time'? I find your attempt at levity inappropriate. Consider me properly chastised.

I'm welding the bimbo room shut.

I glanced at Derek. The boy wonder didn't melt into a pile of goo, although his gaze was glued to Rowena's chest. Avoiding eye contact. Good strategy.

What would I do without the moral compass of a teenage werewolf?

He groaned and I saw his face. Curran! I would've preferred a homicidal lunatic. Oh, wait...