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Billy squinted at me. Why are you letting them go? Because they're real. How do you know? The one I was holding crapped on my hand.

Jim Butcher

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Jim Butcher
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: October 26
Actor
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Independence
Missouri
Hands
Real
Squinted
Billy
Letting
Holding
Hand

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Pretty please. With sugar.
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Don't call me a dinosaur. It isn't fair to the dinosaurs. What did a dinosaur ever do to you?
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And thrice do I say to thee...bite me.
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There aren't any magical words, really. Words just hold the magic.
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The wacky thing about those bad guys is that you can't count on them to be obvious. They forget to wax their mustaches and goatees, leave their horns at home, send their black hats to the dry cleaner's. They're funny like that.
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There is, I think, humor here which does not translate well from English into sanity.
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You don't go walking into the proverbial lion's den lightly. You start with a good breakfast.
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We're all of us equally naked before the jaws of pain.
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No one is an unjust villain in his own mind. Even - perhaps even especially those who are the worst of us. Some of the cruelest tyrants in history were motivated by noble ideals, or made choices they would call hard but necessary for the good of their nation. We're all the hero of our own story.
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Erlking,” I told her. “Big-time bad guy. Wants to eat me.” “Why?” she asked. “Well. I met him,” I said.
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The building was on fire, and it wasn’t my fault.
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Wizards and computers get along about as well as flamethrowers and libraries.
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Love is another kind of power, which shouldn't surprise you. Magic comes from emotions, among other things.
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It isn't good to hold on too hard to the past. You can't spend your whole life looking back. Not even when you can't see what lies ahead. All you can do is keep on keeping on, and try to believe that tomorrow will be what it should be—even if it isn't what you expected.
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In my judgment, my buildings are less likely to burn to the ground during one of your visits if you are disoriented from being treated like a sultan.
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I don't know about your true form, but the weight of your ego sure is pushing the crust of the earth toward the breaking point.
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All right. Tell me what I'm looking at. From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, A giant pair of cartoon lips. I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd! Bob said.
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I put on the boots and kicked some monster ass.
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Star Trek?” I asked her. “Really?” “What?” she demanded, bending unnaturally black eyebrows together. “There are two kinds of people in the universe, Molly,” I said. “Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. This is shocking.” She sniffed. “This is the post-nerd-closet world, Harry. It’s okay to like both.” “Blasphemy and lies,” I said.
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I kept a straight face while my inner Neanderthal spluttered and then went on a mental rampage through a hypothetical produce section, knocking over shelves and spattering fruit everywhere in sheer frustration, screaming, 'JUST TELL ME WHOSE SKULL TO CRACK WITH MY CLUB, DAMMIT!
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