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So there I was being strangled by a ranting, half-naked madman in the middle of the woods, with a she-werewolf dangling from a rope snare somewhere nearby.

Jim Butcher

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Jim Butcher
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: October 26
Actor
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Independence
Missouri
Somewhere
Nearby
Middle
Madman
Half
Snares
Werewolf
Madmen
Ranting
Rope
Dangling
Woods
Strangled
Naked
Snare

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It's not my fault all women like motorcycles, Murph. They're basically huge vibrators. With wheels.
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We're all of us equally naked before the jaws of pain.
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I lunged, low and quick, and drove about a foot of cold steel into his danglies. Hey, I don't care what kind of fearie or mortal or hideous creature you are. If you've got danglies, and can loose them, that's the kind of sight that makes you reconsider the possible genitalia-related ramifications of your actions real damned quick.
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The distinction between good and evil is meaningless if one does not have the freedom to choose between them.
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My head was throbbing, and my hands were shaking, but I went down the ladder to my workroom - and started figuring out how to rip someone's heart out of his chest from fifty miles away. Who says I never do anything fun on a Friday night?
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Could a man's heart, his soul, perish and yet leave him walking and talking as if alive?
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Everything was perfectly healthy and normal here in Denial Land.
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How long have you been a Wiccan?' 'A what?' 'A pagan. A witch.' 'I'm not a witch,' I said, glancing out the door. 'I'm a wizard.' Sanya frowned. 'What is the difference?' 'Wizard has a Z' He looked at me blankly. 'No one appreciates me.' I muttered.
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No story that juicy was going to stay secret for long.
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Caring about someone isn't complicated. It isn't easy. But it isn't complicated, either. Kinda like lifting the engine block out of a car.
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It was one of those moments that would have had dramatic music if my life were a movie, but instead I got a radio jingle for some kind of submarine sandwich place blaring over the store's ambient stereo. The movie of my life must be really low-budget.
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I put on the boots and kicked some monster ass.
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You’re playing the creepy vibe a little hard,” I said. “Might as well go for broke, put on a black top hat and pipe in some organ music.
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Bob wasn't precisely a friend to me but... I was used to him. In a way he was family, the mouthy, annoying, irritable cousin who was always insulting you but who was definitely at Thanksgiving dinner. I had never considered the possibility that one day he might be something else.
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When I'm in turmoil, when I can't think, when I'm exhausted and afraid and feeling very, very alone, I go for walks. It's just one of those things I do. I walk and I walk and sooner or later something comes to me, something to make me feel less like jumping off a building.
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We've both got into the blue beetle. He got into the red door, I got into the white one.
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Heroism doesn't pay very well. I try to be cold-blooded and money-oriented, but I keep screwing it up.
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A technicality I'm prepared to hide wildly behind.
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There's power in the night. There's terror in the darkness. Despite all our accumulated history, learning, and experience, we remember. We remember times when we were too small to reach the light switch on the wall, and when darkness itself was enough to make us cry out in fear.
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Better safe than exsanguinated.
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