Wednesday was missing, buried deeply within his subconscious; he racked his brain for the logic, certain that it must be significant as he noticed the deep purple bruises blemishing his skin and the coagulated blood beneath his fingernails.

Okay listen carefully, there is a character in this book who is trying to kill you, and yes by 'you' I mean the reader, but don't worry, I'm going to help you survive this; I was once on your side of the page after all. 

Well, okay, look, I know that books need to start with a great line, but why can't I just talk about my parrot?

When the ice catches fire, and the earth begins to bleed, the dead one will return.

When your world splits in two and you’re left with the demarcation of before and after, you find yourself torn between wishing for what was (even if it was mostly a lie), and scared spitless of what is.

I never intended to journey to the stars, only the darkness beyond; the stars were just in the way.

My greatest struggle in writing about this story is my lack of courage to start.

"You go on 'sockdologizing.'" 

"What the fuck does that mean?" John huffed.

"It doesn't matter; that's your cue."