In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.

…and all the other tools that mistook information for knowledge

He had his treasure, but finally all he wanted was his family. And peace.

Joy doesn't ever leave, you know. It's always with you. And one day you'll find it again.

…struck. Once. And into that blow he put his childhood, his grief, his loss. He put his mother’s sorrow and his sister’s longing. The menorah, weighed down with that, crushed the Hermit’s skull.

That was the danger. Not that betrayals happened, not that cruel things happened, but that they could outweigh all the good. That we could forget the good and only remember the bad.

…in the library…surrounded by things far more dangerous than what roamed the school corridors. For here thoughts were housed.

Not everything buried is actually dead. For many, the past is alive.

She’d forgotten to love, but she also forgot to hate. (about Clara’s mother, who had dementia)

A murder was never about brawn, it began and ended in the brain and the brain could justify anything.

Conscience. Imagine being pursued by your own conscience….A mountain of conscience. Throwing a lengthening shadow. Growing. Darkening.

I promise you that the moment you unwaveringly commit to your own vision, seen and unseen powers will unite to make that vision a reality.

For Fate/ The willing leads, the unwilling drags along.

If my mind can conceive it, My heart can believe it, I know I can achieve it!

Realistically, we could aim for the top three in the constructors championship. Realistically, we could look at winning more races. Three race wins would be very satisfying.

Is there a medical rule that requires doctors-office personnel to treat you as though you have the IQ of a Cheeto?

There's no end to the inventiveness of critics, I tell you. Because they can't write fiction, they put their impulse into their analysis of work.

A person himself believes that all the other portraits are good likenesses except the one of himself.

A script is utterly useless in and of itself; it's only of any worth the minute your actors, your designers, your directors come into being.

Football is multigenerational. It used to be about fathers taking their sons. Now we're taking our daughters, too.

If you don't keep and guard and mature your force, and above all, have time and quiet to perfect your work, you will be writing things not much better than you did five years ago.