There are people whose eyes you must avoid, whose attention you must not draw to yourself. They are strange, parasitic creatures, lost… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
Once upon a time – for that is how all stories should begin – there was a boy who lost his mother. — John Connolly Copy Share Image
. . . For a lifetime was but a moment in that place, and each man dreams his own heaven. And in… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“And, in the darkness, David closed his eyes as all that was lost was found again.” — John Connolly Copy Share Image
On more than one occasion David, in his urge to explore the darker corners of the bookshelves, had found himself wearing strands… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
There is sometimes a feeling in crime fiction that good writing gets in the way of story. I have never felt that way. All… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
He had quite liked the dwarfs. He often had no idea what they were talking about, but for a group of homicidal, class-obsessed small… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
I'm a ghost," said the small figure, then added, a little uncertainly, "Boo? — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“There is a price to be paid for everything, and it is a good idea to find out that price before you make the… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“She was a round, curvy woman who, for Parker, brought to mind a figure assembled from a selection of soft fruits. Aside” — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“When Louis relaxed, it was an indication that a threat was at hand and he was preparing to act, as when an archer releases… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“The presence in the living room called to her, summoning her in a hundred voices and none, a great dissonant harmony alien yet familiar,… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“Warraner would rather have been the king of nothing than the prince of something.” — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“had been like wandering into the wrong carnival sideshow, the kind that left one feeling sick and slightly soiled.” — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“think you just like tethering goats.” “Well, be sure to tell me when your rope begins” — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“David could tell, by looking at her face as she read, whether or not the story contained in the book was living inside her,… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“Before she came ill, David's mother would often tell him that stories were alive. They weren't alive in the way that people were alive,… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
“Stories wanted to be read, David's mother would whisper. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours.… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
She was plump, with dyed red hair and a face so caked with cosmetics that the floor of the Amazon jungle probably saw more… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
