“You can't bring a snake in here! This is a bakery!” “Please? He’s totally tame, and we just need one thing.” “OK, fine. What do you need?” “A dozen buns.” “We’re fresh out.” “Oh.” “Can I get you some rolls instead?” “No, sorry. They're for the snake.” “So?” “He’s an anaconda.”

Jack got home; his wife was gone. On their bed was an oddly familiar cat. A test: He put on her favorite show. The cat sat in his lap. *** “I’m home—You got a cat?” “What? No! You were gone, so—“ “Did you think the cat was me?” Jack tried to run, but the cat was still in his lap.

"How was school?" "They canceled class after Tommy said a bad word." "That's extreme. What did he say?" "I can't say it." "Just say the first letter. A? S? F?" "It sounded like angels dying. When he said it, the walls turned to smoke, a portal opened, and demons crawled through."

“Thank you all for coming to my mystery murder party!” “Don’t you mean murder mystery?” “No, in a murder mystery the enigma is the killer’s identity. But I am tonight’s murderer. The puzzle is how everyone will die.” “Wait, if we’re all victims, who solves it?” “Ideally, no one.”

There is a person out there for whom knowledge of your existence would be a profound relief. They may not love you or even like you. But the sure and certain knowledge that you are possible and you have come this far would send a great many demons howling back into the darkness.

"Welcome to Hell! There's the boiling pool, the flaying zone, the unraveler—" "What will you do to me?" "You'll watch." "What?" "Hell is...disorganized. Someone with your efficiency obsession is sure to spy ways to improve it." "You want me to fix Hell?" "That's not what I said."

"Sometimes a person seems weird until you realize they've been shaped by their past." "Like when you can tell a building used to be a Pizza Hut?" "What? No." "How's it different?" "I don't know how to respond to that." "It's OK. I love you even though you used to be a Pizza Hut."

Paradise is between corruptibility and incorruptibility— immortality without the baggage, the sense it all could fall apart at any moment, only the moment never comes, and the edge of expectation never dulls. It is my hand in yours and the wonder and terror of what we might do.

“We saw you lit the beacon and have come to your aid!” “There’s a spider.” “An army of subterranean spiderfolk are raiding the surface realms?” “I think there’s just one.” “One spider?” “It’s over there.” “I RALLIED THE MORTAL KINGDOMS TO KILL ONE SPIDER?” “No, don’t kill it!”

Leah stands on the balcony at midnight. "It's gonna be my year!" she proclaims. And she's right. It will be her year. Every year is her year. And your year. And mine. The sun rises on more than 7 billion new years. We each get one. Because time, for all its faults, is still fair.

“Follow your heart.” “That‘s impractical. I'm not a whimsical person.” “The heart is not whimsical. The heart knows its purpose. It beats your entire life, never wavering. Here is what I want for you: Follow its example. Do what you must; do it as if you will die if you stop.”

”He does ’whatever’ a spider can?” ”So the song says.” ”Does he molt?” ”No.” ”Is he venomous?” ”I think that's another guy.” ”Have urticating hair?” ”I don't know what that is.” ”Does he at last play dead to avoid being eaten by mates?” ”I think he might.” ”Well, it's something.”

Everything hurts if you use it too much. Eat too much; you get a stomach ache. Work too hard; you get a back ache. Think too obsessively; you get a headache. So what does it mean when the pain seems to come from just outside your body, in the space where you’re about to be?

The thing about being alone in the forest Is you cannot be alone in the forest. As far as the trees know, you are just A tree with extra complications. They have no desire to judge you, But do wish you would be quieter. Be still, and greet your cousins In their native tongue.

”Once upon a time, things were better. Let’s go back.” They always say that. The world gets better anyway. But in a world with linear time, there must be a peak. Not perfection, but as close as we’ll get. No one will notice the sun that day. They’ll all look back at the shadows.

No matter how much he brushes, his teeth never feel clean. He rubs his tongue along them; it’s like sandpaper. When he looks in the mirror the next day, each tooth is covered in black dots. He inspects one with a tweezer, then pulls, extracting the first of many short dark hairs.

“I have bad news and good news about my book.” “I didn’t know you were an author. What’s your book about?” “My foolproof system for handling disappointment.” “So what’s the bad news? “I haven’t sold a single copy so far.” “And the good news?” “My system really works.”