Magic--that's Just A Label, You Know. Completely

I Think Perhaps All Of Us Go A Little Crazy At Times.

Then She Did See It There - Just A Face, Peering Through The Curtains, Hanging In Midair Like A Mask. A Head-scarf Concealed The Hair And The Glassy Eyes Stared Inhumanly, But It Wasn’t A Mask, It Couldn’t Be. The Skin Had Been Powdered Dead-white And Two Hectic Spots Of Rouge Centered On The Cheekbones. It Wasn’t A Mask. It Was The Face Of A Crazy Old Woman. Mary Started To Scream, And Then The Curtains Parted Further And A Hand Appeared, Holding A Butcher’s Knife. It Was The Knife That, A Moment Later, Cut Off Her Scream. And Her Head.

I Always Carry A Pistol When I Go [to The New York Public Library]. Never Did Trust Those Stone Lions.

So I Had This Problem -- Work Or Starve. So I Thought I'd Combine The Two And Decided To Become A Writer.

Everything In This Business Makes Sense, Because It Serves A Real Purpose, Fills A Need That's A Part Of Living. Even A Single Nail, Like This One, Fulfills A Function. Drive It Into A Crucial Place And You Can Depend On It To Do A Job, Keep On Doing It For A Hundred Years To Come. Long After We're Dead And Gone, Both Of Us.