The Real World Is Horrible.

Genuinely Social People Never Ceased To Amaze Him. Their Brains Seemed To Generate An Inexhaustible Fund Of Things To Say, Naturally, With No Effort, Out Of Nothing At All.

She Still Had Her Bad Days, No Question, When The Black Dog Of Depression Sniffed Her Out And Settled Its Crushing Weight On Her Chest And Breathed Its Pungent Dog Breath In Her Face. On Those Days She Called In Sick To The It Shop Where, Most Days, She Untangled Tangled Networks For A Song. On Those Days She Pulled Down The Shades And Ran Dark For Twelve Or Twenty-four Or Seventy-two Hours, However Long It Took For The Black Dog To Go On Home To Its Dark Master.

I Never Thought About Doing A Sequel When I Was Actually Writing 'the Magicians.' I Only Ever Considered It A Standalone.

I Mean, When You're Tired Of Book Reviews, You're Tired Of Life.

The Danger Would Be Going Back, Or Staying Still. The Only Way Out Was Through. The Past Was Ruins, But The Present Was Still In Play.