That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’.People would much rather say, ‘Get in my...

In my experience, people who want to keep their painful injuries are using them as a crutch. They’re hiding from something.

You haunt my days and dreams.

The memory of the aged becomes clearer and clearer with time. It has no pity.

And there has been no attempt to investigate it,’ I said, ‘to see what it really is?”Eh, Cornel,’ said the coachman’s wife, ‘wha would investigate, as ye call it, a thing that nobody believes in?...

There was this constant urge in me to tear my insides apart,I didn’t know why. By the time I made my mind that it was impossible for meto do, there alighted the fear, haunting me...

Being dead does have its advantages.”-Alastor

Do you?

If you mean to scare women away from you, that speech can’t possibly work. Those threats? If I weren’t trying to hire you I’d be taking my clothes off right now.

Stories you read when you’re the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you’ll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches...

The voice that arises out of the silence is something no one can imagine until it is heard. It roars when it speaks, it lies to you and convinces you, it steals from you and...

This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all the family would have considered the possession...

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.

Here and there and not just in books we catch glimpses of a world of once upon a time and they lived happily ever after, of a world where there is a wizard to give...

Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?

He wasn’t gullible enough to be bullied by the ghost’s accusation – for Andrew Fletcher had his share of guilt, but he’d never thrown anyone down a well, either.

Of four infernal rivers that disgorge/ Into the burning Lake their baleful streams;/Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate,/Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep;/Cocytus, nam’d of lamentation loud/ Heard on the rueful stream; fierce...

You could have kept on driving and never looked back. No one’s ever had to stop for me. Or even hear me. Anyway, you did, and now I’m afraid the time for choice is behind...

All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city’s monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.

It’s not a good idea.