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Because, if one is writing novels today, concentrating on the beauty of the prose is right up there with concentrating on your semi-colons, for wasted effort.

Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman
Age: 64
Born: 1960
Born: November 10
Actor
Author
Beekeeper
Blogger
Comics Writer
Film Director
Film Producer
Journalist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Portchester
Hampshire
Neil Richard Gaiman
Neil Richard MacKinnon Gaiman
Prose
Novel
Effort
Beauty
Today
Semi
Right
Concentrating
Writing
Wasted
Novels

More quotes by Neil Gaiman

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Read. Read anything. Read the things they say are good for you, and the things they claim are junk. You'll find what you need to find. Just read.
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I was one of those kids who had books on them. Before weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, funerals and anything else where you're actually meant to not be reading, my family would frisk me and take the book away. If they didn't find it by this point in the procedure, I would be sitting over in that corner completely unnoticed just reading my book.
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You could fire a machine gun randomly through the pages of Lord of the Rings and never hit any women.
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Sometimes I wish that just solving the plot problems was enough. And then elves would go and do all the actual work moving the words around.
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I didn't like people rewriting my dialogue. I didn't like the fact that we'd start a comic with the Joker, and by the time we inked it, he would have turned into the Scarecrow.
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There was no moon but the night sky was a riot of crisp and glittering autumn stars. There were streetlights too and lights on buildings and on bridges which looked like earthbound stars and they glimmered repeated as they were reflected with the city in the night water of the Thames. It’s fairyland thought Richard.
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The moonlight was enough. It would do.
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On the whole, stories don't write themselves.
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You made peace,” said the buffalo man. “You took our words and made them your own. They never understood that they were here—and the people who worshiped them were here—because it suits us that they are here. But we can change our minds. And perhaps we will.
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May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness.
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You know what my mum once said?’ said Rosie… ‘She said that if a just-married couple put a coin in a jar every time they make love in their first year, and take a coin out for every time that they make love in the years that follow, the jar will never be emptied.’ And this means…?’ Well’, she said. ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it?
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Just remember, what the French say. No, probably not the French, they've got a president or something. The Brits, maybe, or the Swedes. You know what I mean? No, Matthew. What do they say? The king is dead, that's what they say. The king is dead. Long live the king.
Neil Gaiman
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Sometimes I suspect that we build our traps ourselves, then we back into them, pretending amazement the while.
Neil Gaiman
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That's the trouble with you young people. You think because you ain't been here long, you know everything. In my life I already forgot more than you ever know.
Neil Gaiman
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I took delight in hurling books across the room if I knew I would not be reading the second chapter. Then I’d go and pick them up again, because they are books, after all, and we are not savages.
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So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Neil Gaiman
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Work. Home. The pub. Meeting girls. Living in the city. Life. Is that all there is?
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London grew into something huge and contradictory. It was a good place, and a fine city, but there is a price to be paid for all good places, and a price that all good places have to pay.
Neil Gaiman
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I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled.
Neil Gaiman
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Name the different kinds of people,’ said Miss Lupescu. ‘Now.’ Bod thought for a moment. ‘The living,’ he said. ‘Er. The dead.’ He stopped. Then, ‘... Cats?’ he offered, uncertainly.
Neil Gaiman