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The Angel Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis.

Christopher Moore

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Christopher Moore
Age: 67
Born: 1957
Born: January 1
Actor
Assistant Director
Journalist
Novelist
Radio Dj
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Toledo
Ohio
Found
Gabriel
Earth
Davis
Body
Disappeared
Years
Named
Men
Sixty
Hiding
Miles
Angel

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She doesn't understand that a writer is a special creature--that I'm different from everyone else. I'm not saying I'm superior to other people, just more sensitive, I guess.
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When I teach seminars, I tell people, Your stuff has to look like something thats out there, because otherwise nobody will take a chance on you.
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Shoes off in the whale! And don't try and make a break for the anus.
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...she is too beautiful, I think, to not be inherently evil.
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Action based on hope just felt better than the paralysis of certainty.
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I am convinced by the events of the last few weeks that nefarious forces of people--unidentified but no less real--are threatening life as we know it, and in fact, may be bent on unraveling the very fabric of our existence.
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Love needs room to grow. Like a rose. Or a tumor.
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That's the scary thing about hope, she said. If you let it go too long it turns into faith.
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From Dickens's cockneys to Salinger's phonies, from Kerouac's beatniks to Cheech and Chong's freaks, and on to hip hop's homies, dialect has always been used as a way for generations to distinguish themselves.
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The gourney, the big file drawers of the dead, the instruments of dissection - this sure looked like the morgues in the movies. Something had gone seriously wrong while she slept.
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I fink I gots deaf on me willie.
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It was an eight-harlot inn, if that's how you measure an inn. (I understand that now they measure inns in stars. We are in a four-star inn right now. I don't know what the conversion from harlots to stars is.)
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Marry for love, stay married, and raise happy children who are quick to laugh and slow to judge.
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Nothing evokes the prurient like puritanism.
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Only cops and vampires have to have an invitation to enter.
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And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.
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I know that even now, having watched enough television, you probably won't even refer to them as lepers so as to spare their feelings. You probably call them 'parts-dropping-off challenged' or something.
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And he was like The sedative in the blood, blah, blah, four hours, blah, blah, nerdspeak, geektalk - -Abby
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Not unlike the toaster, I control darkness.
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What is your name? asked Lear. Caius, said Kent. And whence do you hail? From Bonking, sire. Well, yes, lad, as do we all, said Lear, but from what town?
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