Agnes was the worst prophet that's ever existed. Because she was always right. That's why the book never sold.

Are you scared? asked Mr. Ibis.<br/>"Not really."<br/>"Well$$$ try to cultivate the emotions of true awe and spiritual terror$$$ as we walk. They are the appropriate feelings for the situation at hand."

I was not so old that I would deny my own senses.

I never fell. I don't care what they say. I'm still doing my job$$$ as I see it.

Nobody died. How can you kill an idea? How can you kill the personification of an action?<br/>"Then what died? Who are you mourning?"<br/>"A point of view."

And$$$ too ignorant to be scared$$$ too young to be awed$$$ Tristan Thorn traveled beyond the fields we know...

For the record$$$ I don't expect you to believe any of this. Not really. I'm a liar by trade$$$ after all; albeit$$$ I like to think$$$ an honest liar.

He stared up at the stars: and it seemed to him then that they were dancers$$$ stately and graceful$$$ performing a dance almost infinite in its complexity.

Bod shrugged. "So?" he said. "It's only death. I mean$$$ all of my best friends are dead."

Go back? I don't know. I think hell's something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go. They're doing the same things they always did. They're doing it to themselves. That's hell.