Time Is A Drug. Too Much Of

Books Must Be Treated With Respect, We Feel That In Our Bones, Because Words Have Power. Bring Enough Words Together They Can Bend Space And Time.

Oh, Well...up Until Now It Had Been A Good Day, In A Horrible Kind Of Way.

The Ideal Death, I Think, Is What Was The Ideal Victorian Death, You Know, With Your Grandchildren Around You, A Bit Of Sobbing. And You Say Goodbye To Your Loved Ones, Making Certain That One Of Them Has Been Left Behind To Look After The Shop.

On The Disc, The Gods Aren't So Much Worshipped, As They Are Blamed.

Although She Was Aware That Somewhere Under Her Complicated Strata Of Vests And Petticoats There Was Some Skin, That Didn't Mean To Say She Approved Of It.