Good Omens

You started to feel that if he was around, then everyone else, even the landscape, was just background.

Only Death hadn’t changed. Some things don’t.

A skeleton, even a walking one, is at least human; Death of a sort lurks inside every living creature.

And, on the other hand, you got people like Ligur and Hastur, who took such a dark delight in unpleasantness you might even have mistaken them for human.

She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.

She was leaning against the doorframe, like an attractive yawn on legs.

But that was the future, and it lay at the other end of a long warm afternoon that contained planks and ropes and ponds. The future could wait.