John Connolly

These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside.

Stories come alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth. Or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet, yearning for an instrument to bring their music into being. They lay dormant, hoping for the chance to emerge. Once someone started to read them, they could begin to change. They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life.

_"Sarge, mr. Nurd here is threatening to turn me to jelly.""really?" said Sarge. "what flavor?

Most of the bad situations I've encountered began with the best of intentions.

Law and justice are not the same.

The trick was not to stifle the emotions, but to control them. Love, anger, grief _ all were weapons in their way, but they needed to be kept in check.

The stories in books hate the stories contained in newspapers.

And, in the darkness, David closed his eyes as all that was lost was found again.

Know a man by his metaphors.

People who believe in buried gods,_ said Louis.__o you believe in buried gods, Detective Walsh?_____ Episcopalian. I believe in everything.