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If it's true that every seven years each cell in your body dies and is replaced, then I have truly inherited my life from a dead man and the misdeeds of those times have been forgiven, and are buried with his bones.

Neil Gaiman

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Neil Gaiman
Age: 63
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
True
Buried
Body
Cells
Every
Bones
Years
Seven
Misdeeds
Men
Truly
Inherited
Life
Dead
Cell
Dies
Forgiven
Times
Replaced

More quotes by Neil Gaiman

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What do I do now?” “I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role.
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You're a big one,[...] a tall drink of water, but I got to tell you, you don't look too bright. I got a son, stupid as a man who bought his stupid at a two-for-one sale, and you remind me of him.
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Going off the grid is always good for me. It's the way that I've started books and finished books and gotten myself out of deadline dooms and things.
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She really was pretty, for a grown-up person, but when you are seven, beauty is an abstraction, not an imperative. I wonder what I would have done if she had smiled at me like that now: whether I would have handed my mind or my heart or my identify to her for the asking, as my father did.
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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.
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I lay on the bed and lost myself in stories. I liked that. Books were safer than other people anyways.
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I fell for her like a suicide from a bridge.
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There's this thing, they have in french: L'espirit d'escalier. The spirit of the stairway. I don't think we have a word for it in English. It means, well, the clever things to say that you only think to yourself when you're on the way out.
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I think you're doing better than you were the last time we saw you. You're growing a new heart, for a start.
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I asked him if it were a mirage, and he said yes. I said it was a dream, and he agreed, But said it was the desert's dream not his. And he told me that in a year or so, when he had aged enough for any man, then he would walk into the wind, until he saw the tents. This time, he said, he would go on with them.
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I don't think you get perfect couples. At best you get two people building something, and working at it, and loving each other, and doing their best to communicate.
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As a teenager I wrote to R.A. Lafferty. And he responded, too, with letters that were like R.A. Lafferty short stories, filled with elliptical answers to straight questions and simple answers to complicated ones.
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Note for Americans and other aliens: Milton Keynes is a new city approximately halfway between London and Birmingham. It was built to be modern, efficient, healthy, and, all in all, a pleasant place to live. Many Britons find this amusing.
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Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything.
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There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.
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She didn't have a daddy? I asked. No. Did you have a daddy? You're all questions, aren't you? No, love. We never went in for that sort of thing. You only need men if you want to breed more men.
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Birds are the last of the dinosaurs. Tiny velociraptors with wings. Devouring defenseless wiggly things and, and nuts, and fish, and, and other birds. They get the early worms. And have you ever watched a chicken eat? They may look innocent, but birds are, well, they're vicious.
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Firstly, there no such person as Death. Second, Death's this tall guy with a bone face, like a skeletal monk, with a scythe and an hourglass and a big white horse and a penchant for playing chess with Scandinavians. Third, he doesn't exist either.
Neil Gaiman
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We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable.
Neil Gaiman
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You know that I love you. And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behavior was no longer amusing.
Neil Gaiman